This Is My Skin
by enigmaofherself
Summary: Tommy survived the war and is in hell because of it. It's not flame, it's not ice, but he is damned and his demons haunt him well. He finds himself sinking into the oblivion of himself, but then Harley walks into his life with a second chance he never believed in. Together they learn that hell is subjective and when you're the last one left alive, all you can do is keep on living.
1. anchors

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

we all carry these things inside that no one else can see

they hold us down like anchors

they drown us out at sea

**- 1 -**

**anchors**

* * *

The ticking of the clock beat in time with his punches and he was lost in the rhythm of it. It was early morning, pale sunshine refracting around the empty gym through the high windows that only succeeded in making the space seem all the more cold despite the insipid warmth that curled around the gritty buildings lining the streets. In a few hours the late summer heat would hang heavy in the thick air of the gym, aggravated by the number of moving, angry bodies that would soon take their rightful place in the centre stage of the ring. This is why Tommy chose to fit in his workouts both early on in the day and late at night, finding it easier to fall into the cadence of his training when he was alone.

Right then, the only other person in the entire gym was Colt, the manager. Tommy had half-expected the man to drop him when he didn't win at Sparta but it seemed that the man had only grown to appreciate him all the more. Despite the odds - and despite Tommy himself - the pair had stabilised a strong friendship based on mutual respect, and it was through this friendship that he had managed to secure a source of income - though Tommy was hard pressed to call it a job. Colt was essentially paying him to work out, and though he had protested the apparent unfairness of it, Colt was glad to have the fighter back under his roof. Tommy would act as the occasional spotter, stand by the ring to help those who got knocked out, clean up the gym afterwards, and man the desk whenever someone new came in to sign up. It was an easy job with a decent wage and Tommy - no matter how illogical it seemed - stopped asking questions and just gave his small nod of gratitude as much as possible.

The other reason why he was appreciative of having a job, no matter how mediocre, was because it gave him something to do other than sit and stew in the maelstrom of emotion that the end result of Sparta had stirred in him. Memories and fires that he had smothered out years ago had resurfaced and they burned just as strong as they did the first time round. The conflict that he had carried around with him since he was fourteen years old had rekindled in his chest, tendrils of rage and guilt and sorrow weaved around his ribs, tiny threads of his past that he was unable to cut and so they just grew more and more tangled until he could hardly breathe from the tightness of them around his lungs. It was the conflict of loving his brother and resenting his brother; loving his father and blaming his father. They were two of the most important men in his life, his two idols, the two who he had looked up to for the better part of his childhood, only ever wanting their praise... the two who had betrayed him the most.

This conflict had reached its peak during that final fight at Sparta. His brother had dislocated his shoulder - a physical pain to match the emotional one - but as he had beat him in those last few seconds, he had whispered and cried words of love, compassion and reassurance. While Brendan's body had held him down, inflicting pain and rage, his voice had told a different tale, one of two lost brothers who needed their reconciliation more than they needed their guilt. Tommy, pushed past desperation and all physical boundaries, had fallen into his brother's promises with a child's hope that maybe he was right. Maybe it was okay. Maybe Brendan's love did overcome his betrayal, and maybe there was more than bleeding fists and one-too-many punches.

When Brendan had lifted and supported his brother in that long stumble from the cage to the medical wing, his fierce hands pushing away cameras and reporters and anyone who came too close, Tommy had allowed himself one long moment of complete and total trust. In that moment, against all the odds, he had trusted his brother to hold him and keep him safe. This trust manifested into stifled sobs that felt like chains heavy in his throat, a fragile catharsis floating languidly, painfully above their heads like a rusted halo.

When Tommy woke up in the hospital bed, he had realised that it couldn't have been catharsis because the tragedy wasn't yet over. Rather, it was just the release of emotion now hanging in limbo, the collision of past and present and the grey area that formed as a skin on top of it. His shoulder had been torn out but now it was back again and things would continue on as they always had done. Nothing had been achieved, no promises had been fulfilled.

Brendan had sat by his bed and murmured stuttered apologies, but they had also been followed by pleading, jaded justifications that were more often than not swallowed back so that the antiseptic of the hospital didn't leak into his wallet and bleach the faces of his daughters away. He was sorry for what happened... but how could he take back his decision to stay when it had led him to his wife and his beautiful children? He was sorry, but he wasn't. He couldn't be. He couldn't take back the best thing to happen to him, even if it meant taking back the worst thing to happen to his brother.

Even with the steady drip of morphine, Tommy was wary. It had taken him years to build up his defences and no one, not even Brendan with his tears and clear eyes, could bring them down in just a few minutes. So when he woke, the uncertain mass of his brother ever present at his side, he felt the cold weight of expectancy press against the base of his skull. He couldn't deny that there was a sharp spark inside of him that wished so dearly for things to change, for him to be able to trust in his brother like he used to, but he was numb. His blood was filled with sand, holy water and gunpowder. Trust only lead to betrayal; life only lead to death.

_Tommy, I - I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what you had to go through. I never meant for all those things to happen to you. I never meant for ma to die, I never meant for your friend to die, I never meant for you to fall into this pit of... I never meant for you to end up in a hospital because of what I've done._

Brendan took a shaky breath and it rattled through his lungs like lost pennies. Tommy watched him through half-lidded eyes, wondering whether he had died with the rest of his unit and that this was just his personal version of hell.

_I can't take back what's happened... I can't - I can't take back my love for my wife or my children, I just can't. They're my family, just like you... in a different way. You'll always be my brother. I'm here for you, Tommy, I promise you that. I can't change the past but together we can overcome it. Things can change, they can. You're my brother, Tommy, and I'm not gonna let you go again._

Tommy had gripped his hand hard, the brothers sharing a rare show of sentiment that spoke volumes, more than forced, unsure, chopped up words ever could. Tommy held on for dear life, and he made a short prayer to whoever the fuck was listening that this would be it. That he could hold on and Brendan wouldn't let him go, not again.

Tommy held on tight, but there still came the time when Brendan had to switch hands for his other family. On the day that he left he told Tommy that he would share his winnings from Sparta with his brother; this wasn't a surprise, though he wasn't sure why. There had been a small internal battle about whether to accept the money or not, but logic won out over pride. No matter the circumstances, he needed to send some sum of money over to Pilar and her family. She didn't care whose wallet it came from, as long as her children could go to school and eat well and move on from their father's death in peace. The fact that it came from the wrong brother was only something Tommy would have to deal with, not anyone else.

Brendan made him beautiful promises that he pinned to the walls of the hospital room, desperate for his brother to see them. He assured Tommy over and over that it was okay, that they would be okay. That he had a place for his little brother in his heart and his home. Tommy believed him, he did. But, as bright as the promises were, they still fell dark when Brendan waved goodbye and drove back to his family, his present family.

Maybe it was the morphine that dulled his betrayal-fuelled rage, but Tommy couldn't begrudge his exit. He understood - had always understood, despite not wanting to - that Brendan had a new family, that he had children. He had never cared for Tess very much, but how could he blame two little girls for breaking apart the two brothers? No, he had no resentment for his nieces. But the point of the matter was, Brendan had sacrificed his mother and brother for his wife and children, and while Tommy understood that, how could what was sacrificed fit into the dynamics of what had it had been sacrificed for? There couldn't be a place for him at the table, no guest room bed made specially up for him. No, it was just too complicated, too painful. The abandoned past could not join hands with the chosen present.

Though, perhaps Tommy was okay with that. He told himself that maybe best intentions were good enough for him. Maybe the walk between the ring and the hospital bed was a large enough distance to last a lifetime. He knew now that if he needed to call Brendan, he would pick up. That was the closest they had been in years, for even if Brendan would have answered before, Tommy wouldn't have called in the first place. Maybe it was the knowledge and not the action that he needed; the safety net that had never been in place before. Perhaps that would suffice.

So, when Tommy was released from the hospital with a sling on one arm and a gym bag on the other, he was able to breathe deep. He was able to arrive back at his father's house and slip into his room without any scathing comments. He was able to go through physical therapy and retrain his shoulder with acceptance and not blame.

He was able to do all these things, but after a while, he was also began to see that these things didn't mean much, not really. He started to doubt the power that Brendan's words held. He started to doubt his father's sober second - third? - chance, his brother's invitation to join his family - and most importantly, he started to doubt himself.

Yes, he could pick up the phone and call his brother. Yes, he could walk out of his room without seeing his father passed on the floor. Yes, he could look at Manny's photograph without being crippled by the guilt of not supporting his family. Yes, he could do all these things but everything else was the same. He was still alone; Manny had still been killed; he had still lost Sparta; his father had still abused him; his brother had still left; his mother was still dead. These fundamental parts of his existence hadn't changed and he was starting to doubt whether they ever could, no matter who would be on the other end of the phone.

In order to keep him physically and mentally engaged, he kept up his training. His shoulder was fully healed after twelve weeks, and now that five months had passed since his final fight in the competition, he was in just as good condition as he ever was. A dislocated shoulder was mild compared to the things he had seen and experienced during war and he found it easy enough to move on from it, no matter who had dealt the blow.

He trained because it gave him the ability to fight if he needed to. When he sparred he fought with just as much intensity and aggression as he had always done. He and his brother may have looked to fix their present, but their past still remained and it was his past that fuelled his emotion, and it was his emotion that fuelled his fights. His opponents fought because they wanted to win: he fought because he had already lost everything else.

Even though he hadn't won, his expedition in Sparta had gained him respect that, somehow, made it easier to keep himself to himself despite his apparent fame. His ferocity kept away the fanatics, allowed him a buffer that he appreciated more than he ever let on. Tommy hated attention; even in Sparta, he could barely stand the crowds around him, the claps on his back, the melodramatic and ignorant commentating vibrating above him like white noise.

That was another reason why he liked Colt's gym, especially in the morning or late at night. No attention. No comments, no challenges, no conversations; just him. For a long time it had been just him; that was all that was left.

When the clock struck nine, Tommy threw his last punch before stepping into the showers. The water was warm from lack of use, and he used his arm to brace himself against the wall as the water flowed over him. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady. Another day. Just another day. With a sigh, he turned off the water and quickly got dressed, leaving the stalls just seconds before the first of the usual crowd drifted through the doors. They lifted a hand in silent acknowledgment and Tommy offered a nod before heading out to the small foyer.

From his seat at the desk he could hear Colt talk away on his phone from the office, and the sound of distant cars from the open entrance to the gym. Already the day was brightening up and Tommy told himself that today would be okay. Rolling his shoulders, he dragged over a pile of unprocessed membership applications and began to go through them. It was tedious work but it kept his mind busy and often time would drift out of reach when he wasn't thinking about other things. More and more men came through the doors and each one would offer Tommy a hard smile and a firm nod of greeting before disappearing to start their workouts. Soon the familiar sounds of fists against flesh or material were heard in the background, the occasional cheer or groan as the sparring sessions continued on throughout the morning.

It was nearing midday when Tommy was disturbed from his mindless tasks by someone having a conversation just outside the gym. He looked up to see a young woman, probably in her twenties, talking on her phone as she locked up her car.

"I'll call you later, okay?" she said, sounding as if she was cutting off an argument. Saying goodbye, she hung up the phone and slid it into the back pocket of her faded jeans, then threw a satchel over her shoulder. She hesitated for a brief moment as if trying to come to a decision in her head, before she set her shoulders and entered the gym.

As she walked over to his desk, Tommy looked her up and down. Along with her jeans, she had on a loose black t-shirt and some scruffy sneakers. Her shoulders sagged with some unseen weight, her face was clear of makeup and her dark hair was pulled back into a messy, wild bun. All in all she looked worse for wear, though when she reached the desk she shot Tommy a vibrant smile.

"Hi, is Colt here?" she asked.

"Name?"

"Harley Sinclair." He got up and sauntered over to Colt's office, well aware that she was watching his every move. The feel of her eyes on his back felt like burning suns. When he told Colt who was here, the man shot to his feet and pushed past the fighter, eager to see his visitor.

"Well, if it isn't the baddest bitch in the whole world!" he called and quickly pulled the girl into his arms for a tight embrace. The girl laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek, a gentle smile adorning her lips as she pulled away. Tommy sat back down at his desk and watched the interaction with a silent curiosity.

"What're you doing here?" Colt asked her, holding her at arm's length so he could look her up and down. The girl shrugged one shoulder, already dismissing the story before she had even told it.

"Mum wanted to see the States." Colt's face twitched for a moment. It was then that Tommy recognised her accent to be British, though there was definitely nothing posh about it.

"How long you gonna be here for?"

"Not sure. However long it takes." There was an unmistakable story between the two, so much so that Tommy could almost see their unspoken words jump back and forth until Colt nodded. "I'm actually here to ask a favour. Is there any chance I could crash at yours for a bit?"

"Of course you can, you don't even need to ask." His tone was softer than Tommy had ever heard it. The girl gave him a huge, youthful grin and threw her arms around the man's neck. Colt held her tight and smoothed down her hair in a very intimate gesture that Tommy wouldn't expect from him normally. "You alright, girl?" he murmured and Harley sighed, pulling away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well, look, I've just got to make some phone calls but as soon as I'm done, how about I take you for lunch and then we can go back to mine."

"That sounds great."

"Okay, well, give me twenty minutes and I'll be all yours, okay? Go watch some guys show off for you or something." He disappeared into his office and Harley looked around the foyer, obviously not sure what to do with herself. Visibly uncomfortable, she leant against the doorway of the threshold that lead into the main section of the gym. None of the others had noticed her presence yet for they were down the other end, and so she was content just to stand there and wait.

"Do you need anything?" Tommy asked her, his ingrained politeness automatically kicking in. The girl turned to him and sent him a bright smile, one that contrasted badly with her downtrodden appearance though it made her green eyes shine despite the dark purple under her eyes from apparent lack of sleep.

"No, I'm fine, thanks." He nodded and he busied himself with the paperwork on the desk, not in the mood - never in the mood - to play up small talk, especially with a girl who looked like she needed a shower and a good night sleep. Luckily enough, Colt reappeared only a few minutes later saying something about no one picking up the phone. Harley smiled and glided forward, letting him guide her out of the gym.

Colt threw over his shoulder to Tommy, "I'll be back later. Man the place." The pair walked towards Colt's car and soon they were gone, leaving Tommy in their wake to briefly wonder just who the girl was, but then he shook off her presence and continued on with his work.

The rest of the day was uneventful, only the burst of cheering or frequent smacks of flesh against the ring floor disturbing Tommy's list of chores. He worked slowly so that he could shut down his thoughts and just be for a few hours, ignorant of his past and all it entailed. When Colt returned to the gym, it was nearly the end of the day and Tommy was ready to go work out before he went home. His manager was sombre and quiet as he leant against the front desk.

"You alright, man?" Tommy asked, leaning back in chair to rest his knee against the desk. Colt shrugged and ran a hand over his bald head.

"Yeah, man. Just had some late nights this week, and I wasn't expecting Harley to show up out the blue."

"Who she is, anyway?" Colt gave a short laugh and shook his head.

"Even after all these years, I still don't know the answer to that. I did some business with her... I'm not sure what to call him - brother, friend? - a few years ago and she was the one who babysat me while I stayed at their place in London. I'm still good friends with all of them, but it's Harley who I end up talking to the most. Not sure how it happened, but hey."

"You two an item?" Tommy asked with a smirk and Colt grinned.

"Definitely not." He laughed. "Her brothers made it pretty clear that I wasn't allowed to touch, even if I had wanted to. They've turned out to be good friends and even better business contacts so I wouldn't want to ruin that. She's damn hot so I probably wouldn't say no if it was offered but nah, man. Dare I say it, she's too young for me anyway."

"Didn't look so hot today," Tommy said, fiddling with a toothpick before setting it between his teeth. Colt lost his amused demeanour and sagged a little.

"I know. She looks rough as hell, man. After we got some food, I dropped her off at my place and she practically passed out on the couch as soon as she hit it. I think she's been running on fumes for a while." He looked as if he was going to say something else but he cut himself off and stood up. "Right, I've got some things to do. You gonna go work out?" Tommy nodded and they parted ways.

Tommy quickly threw himself into his training, ignoring the rest of the guys in the gym with him. He felt the tension that had steadily built up during the day disperse through his fists, allowing a temporary calm to settle around the omnipresent anger that forever festered at the bottom of his chest. Time disappeared beneath his feet and too soon it was dark outside, the gym empty except for Colt in his office.

Calling out a goodbye to the manager, Tommy began the short walk back to his father's place. He could tell by the lights that Paddy was still up, no doubt listening to his audiotapes as he sat in the living room. The smell of coffee was the first thing to hit him as he walked through the front door and while it was unexpected, it was a hell of a lot better than the stench of alcohol and vomit. Paddy raised a tentative hand in greeting as his son moved through the house, and Tommy gave him a terse nod in reply before shutting himself in his room. He fell into his bed with little effort and drifted away in the darkness, not awake but never quite asleep.

* * *

_Well, hello there! After four years, I'm finally publishing a new fanfic on this fabulous site. What can I say, Tom Hardy offers a lot of inspiration in all departments. Warrior is one of my favourite films, and after watching it about five times (as well as all of ETH's amazing films, I highly recommend acquainting yourself with his filmography list on wikipedia and getting down to it), I decided to give it a go. So, here we go. I'm just waiting for Lawless to become a section on here, and well, I'm sure you can imagine what the next step will be._

_My disclaimer is on my bio page. If you notice any mistakes, fancy a chat, or just want to leave your opinion, you know what to do. I'd love to hear from you! _

_Love 'n' stuff._


	2. wretched

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

satan, settle down

you can warm the globe

but leave my wretched soul alone

i don't know you

and i don't owe you a thing

**- 2 -**

**wretched**

* * *

The first thing Tommy noticed the next morning was that Harley was sat in the foyer. She was curled up on a chair, reading a magazine and it was such an ordinary sight that he dared to wonder whether she had been sat there every day before that one and he had just never noticed. He walked past her but she didn't look up until he collected the keys for the equipment cupboard, the clatter drawing her attention, and he had to force himself to look away from those bright, forest green eyes.

It was early in the morning, just gone seven, and Tommy was confused as to why the woman had returned to the gym despite it being pretty obvious that there was absolutely nothing there for her to do. Colt spent the entire time caught up in his office and with her sat outside, it seemed that he wouldn't even let her take up residence there. Unless she wanted to kit up and go work out, which didn't seem very likely, she was going to get very bored very quickly. The forever irritated part of him snidely hoped that he wouldn't be expected to babysit the girl during his shift, but then again, who was he to say no if he was.

When he returned to the foyer after setting up the equipment, he saw that Harley had thrown away the magazine which was now lying in the bin beside her, and was instead staring out of the window with a distant look. She was perfectly still like a renaissance painting, and even from where he was standing, Tommy could see the bone-deep exhaustion that was tightly coiled around her skin and shoulders. It was a tiredness that didn't go away after just one good night sleep or hot meal; he saw this tiredness in her because he saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

It was only when he went to pull open the gym door - it was too hot to keep it closed - did Harley decide the she'd had enough of the silence.

"Tommy, right?" she asked, watching him secure the door. He nodded and she didn't speak again until he was in front of his desk.

"Have you known Colt for long?" It was a weak conversation starter but Tommy decided to humour her, and he shrugged.

"Not really. Just over half a year."

"Oh. You train here? You a fighter?" She didn't know him and god, that was refreshing. He nodded, leant back against the desk and took his turn.

"You from England?"

"Scottish blood but yeah, I grew up in London."

"What brings you here?" It was an innocent question but her eyes flashed, sharp like a newly cleaned blade.

"My mum wanted to see the States," she replied after a thick pause. It was the same reason she gave Colt the day before and there was a warning in her voice that Tommy thought was unnecessary, yet he heeded it nevertheless. Still, not wanting to keep the conversation going once it had rules, he turned his back on the girl and disappeared into the main hall of the gym to begin his work out.

Harley chanced a smile after him; she wasn't entirely sure why.

When Tommy returned from his training session, hair damp and skin warm, Harley was nowhere to be seen. Colt informed him later that she had gone to visit her mother, and then pushed him into the ring. A new fighter had joined the gym and he was all talk; he had held his own against the others but Colt wanted to see how he fared against a real fighter.

The man was out cold within forty seconds and Tommy stared down at his limp body with an impassive look, having not been invested enough in the fight for it to have stirred in him any unbidden emotion. He walked out of the small ring without a look back and wondered whether he would ever feel anything other than emptiness and anger.

The day passed; it always did.

Brendan called during the evening and Paddy handed him the house phone with hands that were steadier than they had ever been despite his relapse a few months prior. Sparing a grunt to express his gratitude, Tommy grabbed the phone and lay back on his old bed, staring up at the same ceiling he had stared up at as a child. Brendan's hesitation was tangible but Tommy didn't help him, remaining silent as he waited for his brother to speak.

"Tommy... how are you, man?" Not perfect but it did the trick.

"Fine, you?"

"Good, man, I'm good. Er, I'm phoning to ask you something, actually. We were wondering whether you wanted to come visit for a few days?" Tommy stiffened and his voice was rough when he replied, asking for a timeframe.

"Oh, er, not until October. Just wanted to give you a heads up. It's, um, it's -" Tommy cut off his stalling, already knowing what he was going to say.

"It's your birthday."

"Yeah." Brendan sounded surprised and relieved as if he had expected Tommy to have forgotten his own brother's birthday. Tommy held back a scoff of contempt; as if he had forgotten a single thing about his older brother - _not a single thing._

"I don't know, man," he began, ready to turn down the offer. It felt too forced, like Brendan was only making the effort out of guilt. Though, he supposed, what else was there in their family if not guilt?

"Just think about it, okay? You've got a month or two to think about it. I would really appreciate it if you came, Tommy." There was an undeniable note of pleading in his brother's voice that made Tommy wince. No matter how much resentment he had for Brendan, he couldn't just flat out refuse him when he sounded like that.

"I'll think about it," he acquiesced, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and Brendan's sigh of relief meant more to him that he would ever know.

"Great, man. I'll talk to you later, okay?" They said their goodbyes and Tommy found himself once again alone in the dark of his childhood bedroom. It was barely big enough for him and he had contemplated the idea of moving his and his brother's old beds together but when it came down to it, he couldn't fathom moving anything around. He was afraid that if he touched it, it would just collapse into ash and sand.

He looked around him and was again hit by the horrible realisation that the empty bedroom and the crowded gym were all he had. His time was split between the two places, both of them just a necessity. Both of them full of anger stemming from the same things, both of them with the same beginning and ending. Before that room he'd had the Marines - and before that, he'd had that room. _That_ room inside _that_ house which had been built with dysfunction and broken whiskey bottles, shot glasses lined up on the kitchen windowsill like fairy lights.

Tommy lay in his bed, his hand over his eyes and he thought that there had to be something else, something other than those four walls and the lingering promise of regret.

* * *

It was over a week later when Tommy next saw Harley. It was nearly lunch time when she came through the door of the gym carrying too many bags as she talked to someone on the phone that was caught between her ear and her shoulder. He could see the handles of the bags digging into her pale skin but she didn't seem bothered as she traipsed across the foyer, laughing down the phone with more energy than she'd had before. Still, Tommy got up and took most of her bags, his lips twitching at the corners when she gave him a beaming smile of thanks. She quickly hung up the phone and shoved it into her pocket.

"What's with all the stuff?" he asked her.

"Colt asked me to pick up some things, though at the time I didn't realise 'some things' constituted an entire shop. I also brought some food since he was being grumpy." She lifted one of the bags Tommy had left her with and it didn't take long for the aroma of whatever was in it to hit him.

Harley pushed into Colt's office without knocking and dropped the bag in front of him, rolling her eyes as he immediately began digging through it. He quickly found a burger with all the sides and didn't even look up before he started shoving it into his mouth. It was like he was a starving child and Tommy watched him eat like a wild dog with a raised eyebrow. Harley saw his expression and laughed, grabbing the bag again.

"Jesus, don't choke," she said to Colt who just gave her the finger. Harley rolled her eyes and left the office, Tommy moving out of her way as she went to put the bag on his desk.

"Here, come get some food. Don't worry, the rest of it isn't as unhealthy as the burger. I know you fighters are as finicky about eating as ballerinas are." She didn't see the slight flicker of a grin Tommy shot her as he went to check out what was on offer. There was chicken salad, seafood paella and some kind of steak fajita that was overstuffed with roasted vegetables. At Tommy's questioning look, she explained.

"There was a party going on down where my mum's staying, and they had loads of leftover food. They wouldn't let me leave without me taking some. One of the women there, her husband is a chef and he made it all." Unable to ignore the delicious smell of the hot food, Tommy pulled up a spare chair for Harley and they both sat down at his desk, delving into their meal with enthusiasm. It tasted as good as it smelt and they sat in comfortable silence as they ate, though the quiet didn't last long as the aroma began to attract some of the men from the gym.

Harley told them to help themselves, seemingly ignorant of the searching stares they all sent her as she wiped her hands on a napkin and slipped back into Colt's office for some water. As soon as she was behind the closed door, Tommy braced himself for the torrent of questions he knew he was about to receive; he wasn't disappointed.

"Dude, who's the chick?"

"You tap that?"

"That your girlfriend?"

"What's with all the food?"

"She's hot, dude."

"Did she join the gym or something?"

Tommy shrugged and looked over his shoulder as if he could see her through the wooden door.

"She's a friend of Colt, turned up the other day to ask if she can crash with him. Don't know much else."

"Damn, boy!" Mad Dog exclaimed in his usual manner. "She's fuckin' smokin', man! I want to get me a piece of that ass!" The others laughed while Tommy just looked at him with an expression somewhere between disinterest and disbelief. "I can't wait till I tap that!"

"Oh, honey." The men looked up to see Harley standing in the doorway of Colt's office, her keys in one hand and the other tucked in her pocket. "I would say that you're more likely to tap out than to tap this, but I think that's kinda your thing now, isn't it?" The others howled in laughter and even Tommy couldn't hold back his smirk at Mad Dog's expression. He glanced over at Harley to see a mischievous glint in her eye and he kind of liked it.

"Bye, boys. See ya, Tommy." She smiled at him and quickly left the gym, the men still laughing as she drove away. Colt leant against the doorway of his office and shook his head at the crowd as they dispersed, nudging Mad Dog with their shoulders.

"I was starting to think she'd lost her sense of humour. She always was a sarcastic little bitch, even back then," Colt laughed, helping Tommy clear away the mess. "It's nice to see that she hasn't changed all that much. She hasn't really been herself recently."

"She seems down all the time," Tommy observed quietly, and Colt nodded.

"Tell me about it. Her mom's really ill and I think Harley is trying to do a 'last wish' sort of thing for her." The mood in the room instantly dropped and Tommy paused in what he was doing, staring hard at his own hands. Unable to stop them, he was hit by the memories of his own mother, cancer-riddled, coughing up blood and mumbling broken words as she cried herself to sleep at night; cold sweats and chunks of hair on the pillow. Tommy felt a surge of empathy for the girl.

"Is that why she's staying with you?" Even to his own ears, Tommy's voice was cracked and rough, holding back years of torment. If Colt recognised this, he didn't show it.

"Yeah. Her mom's staying at the local hospital for the moment but Harley's trying to find some small place where they can both stay so she can look after her herself. She doesn't have the money to sit up in a hotel while she's looking, as well as paying for bills and medication and whatever, so she's crashing at mine. I told her she can stay as long as she wants. I never met Lily when I stayed with them but I ate her food and heard stories about her." He sighed again and stepped back, and Tommy could see in his face that he was worried that he'd said too much, but then he must have realised that if anyone could keep something to themselves it was Tommy, so Colt shrugged it off and went into his office.

Tommy sucked on his toothpick and stared after him, wondering just what exactly he was hiding behind that door, just how many stories he had wrapped around his desk lamp like an old power cord, and whether his was one of them.

* * *

The journey to the hospital was a relatively short one and Harley took a deep breath as she pulled into the car park. It was full as always, relatives and loved ones lingering around death beds, unsure as to why it all was happening. Death and the promise of it always made one rethink life and it was an irony that Harley didn't appreciate.

The nurse at the station just waved Harley in: it was a sign of how many times she had been in the hospital in such a short space of time, for she was already on first-name terms with all the staff in this wing. She exchanged pleasantries with the short-haired woman then ventured off down to her mother's room.

The curtains were drawn, allowing the woman lying in the bed to sleep undisturbed. She was always sleeping whenever Harley came to visit her as she was on a constant drip of some sleep-inducing concoction of drugs, because if she wasn't she would fall into some crazed-fit, screaming for help and for her husband and daughter.

"Hi, mum," Harley whispered as she tiptoed around the bed. Her mother looked so peaceful, her mahogany hair draped across the pillows as if she were Sleeping Beauty. The resemblance between mother and daughter was startling for they shared the same emerald eyes, the same pale skin and the same plump lips. But whereas Harley was strong in both mind and body, Lily was fragile and vulnerable, and this was made all the more obvious as she wasted away in the hospital bed.

"Don't worry, you'll be out of here soon. I'm still looking for a place but there're some potentials not too far from here. I think you'll be so much better if it was just the two of us, without all these drugs and all the others patients here. I'm trying to get one with some nice scenery from the windows, rather than all this stone. We can play music too, just like we used to when I was younger." She took her mother's hand, gripped it tight. "It'll just be us, no one to bother us. We'll be safe - you'll be safe. I'll look after you, mum, I'll always look after you." A few lone tears snaked down her cheeks and she let them drop as she squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself a quick moment of sorrow. It was hard for her to handle seeing her mother so weak and defeated, unable to stay awake for too long in case she hurt herself.

"It'll be okay, mum," she promised. "Everything will be okay."

She didn't stay for long. With her mother asleep and all the sympathetic looks on the nurses' faces, it was torture going there everyday. When she left, she let out a deep sigh as if she had been holding her breath from the moment she arrived, and then climbed back into her car, her hands shaking as they latched onto the steering wheel.

Her time was split between the hospital, searching for an apartment of house to rent, the gym and finally, Colt's place. She didn't know why she agreed to go with Colt to the gym so often, but she supposed it was a break away from all her responsibility, even if it was just for an hour. She knew that Colt worried about her so it was also a way to appease him, and since he was showing her a huge generosity but letting her stay at his flat, she was more than willing to do so.

Also, it didn't hurt that Tommy was there for her to sit and stare at; she laughed to herself in the car as his face sprung to mind, replacing the image of her unconscious mother. When she first saw him sat behind the desk in the gym, she thought she was going to faint from sheer attraction. She didn't have much time to spend looking at men and so it had been a while since she'd been floored by someone so damn gorgeous. Though, as soon as she remembered who she was and what she looked like, all hopes of getting his attention went out the window, which was fortunate because it allowed her to relax around him and not act like a total idiot.

As they interacted more and more - which was still hardly anything - she found herself becoming more intrigued by this man and not just because he was insanely handsome. He was quiet but not shy, removing himself from the social norm of conversation and small talk. There was something under the surface, something more than he cared to share and it was something that she wanted to reveal. He was a hard man but not just through training or any over-hyped masculinity kick like most of the other men in that gym, but rather through his life experiences. He had been forcibly moulded into the person he had become, and she was pretty sure he wasn't exactly proud of it. She had tried getting Colt to give her some information about him, but he just brushed off her questions and told her to talk to him herself. This kind of protectiveness was rare for Colt which made her all the more curious.

So, when she turned up at the gym the next day and Colt wasn't there, she didn't hesitate in going up to Tommy instead.

"Since Colt isn't here to take me to lunch and I have no idea where to eat in this town, how'd you fancy taking me instead?" She gave him her sweetest smile but when she saw the shutter draw behind his grey eyes, she immediately back-tracked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, don't worry about it." She stepped back, intent on leaving the gym as swiftly as possible so she could berate herself in private, but then for a reason unbeknownst to her, the hardness in Tommy's eyes twisted into something softer. He grabbed his wallet and stood up, swiping up his jacket in the other hand.

"Sure, I can do lunch." While Harley stared at him in disbelief, he called through to the others to let them know that he was going out and the desk was unmanned. The men looked between him and Harley and half of them deflated while the other half smirked and nudged each other with their elbows. Tommy ignored them just like he always did, and walked outside with the girl at his side.

"There's an alright diner just two blocks over from here."

"That sounds great," she said, perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. She hadn't done this sort of thing in so long and despite never being one to lose her cool before, she was rusty with social interaction outside of nurses and her friends back home.

"Thanks for coming with me. I know it's probably not what you wanted to do for your lunch," she said, making sure to keep her voice at socially acceptable enthusiasm levels. "I just get lost so easily around here and Colt is awful with directions." Tommy chuckled softly, reminding himself to let the anger settle down quietly in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm having lunch with a beautiful woman at somewhere that's not the gym. I think I'm okay." Harley blushed but didn't look away when she grinned at him, appreciating the small tidbit of humour. He had his hands tucked into his pockets and his head was dipped slightly, his shoulders hunched, but when he smiled at her it was the most beautiful thing she had seen all day. True to herself, she told him so and grinned all the wider when a small patch of colour tinted his cheeks.

"Sorry," she apologised, not sorry at all. "I have a habit of making inappropriate, random compliments." Tommy laughed, feeling more at ease with this girl than he had expected.

When they got to the diner, they were sat at a booth and they both scoured their menus in silence. Harley looked all the options and sighed: she was really indecisive and add that to being a fussy eater, it took her ages to decide what to eat when she went out. Still, when the waitress came to take her order, she picked the first thing she saw and went with it, plus some water. Tommy ordered his meal and soon they had no excuse for silence.

"So, how long you staying in lovely Pittsburgh?" he asked her. Harley bit the inside of her cheek and fiddled with the corner of the menu, and Tommy instantly understood that there was more to that question that he might have thought. Harley thought about how she should answer, because _until my mum dies_ was probably not a suitable response inside a family diner.

"Depends," she finally replied and Tommy nodded, sensing not to push it.

"You been here long?" she asked in return and Tommy scoffed, looking away.

"Was born here. Got out for a bit but now I'm back," he answered, not hiding the obvious fact that he wasn't happy about it.

"Got out how?"

"Joined the Marines." His voice was low and cautious, and Harley sat back to study him, thinking that he definitely suited the role. Perhaps that was the reason why he had all that pent up anger just festering beneath the surface; those who knew death had sorrow, but those who well versed in dying knew anger. Harley wondered how many times Tommy had died.

"Oh, right. Two of my friends are in the army," she told him, offering the tidbit of information as a safety net, a strand of understanding that he could hold on to. "They're brothers and it was a family thing. All the men in their family and a lot of the women too have been involved with the military in some way."

"As soon as I could, I joined," Tommy told her, his voice quiet, wary. Harley could tell they were treading dangerous waters for the both of them and this made her lips quirk into a strange sort of smile, because this wasn't how socialisation or lunch dates were meant to go. Her elbows were on the table and she swirled the ice around in her water, staring blindly at the glass in her hand. There was a long moment of silence and it was Tommy who broke it.

"What brings you to Pittsburgh, then? I doubt it's for a vacation." The absurdity of it being a holiday for her made her snort in derision and Tommy's lips pulled up into a cold smirk because he knew that feeling well.

"Definitely not a holiday." She paused before continuing on. "I'm trying to find a place for my mum to stay in for a while."

"Colt tells me that your mum is sick." Perhaps his words were blunt but Harley couldn't believe the gentleness in his tone, the compassion present in his grey gaze. She swallowed thickly, slightly annoyed that Colt would just give away pieces of her personal life like it was nothing, but how she could begrudge Tommy when he was looking at her like that?

"... Yeah. She's at the hospital for the moment, but all they're doing is keeping her asleep. She hates it there, so I just want to find a place where I can look after her." She rubbed a hand tiredly across her face and her shoulders were sagging with a weight that Tommy finally recognised because he carried it too. He wanted to ask how her mother was sick but he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that question, so he kept quiet. Luckily the waitress reappeared with their food before the silence got too long and they dug in with an enthusiasm that had little to do with the food.

"Sorry, this isn't really lunch talk," Harley apologised after a while, forcing a small laugh. Tommy just smiled at her, hoping it seemed natural.

"It's fine. I get it, don't worry." Without having to explain, Harley had no doubt that he did. The rest of the meal was spent talking about menial things and enjoying their food, taking it slow. Despite the awkwardness of their unsteady conversations, they ended up spending over two hours sat in the booth, reaching a level of comfort with each other that allowed them to laugh and smile at the small things. It was a reprieve that neither of them got the chance to have often, and they took advantage of it.

Harley said goodbye to him outside the gym and Tommy watched as she climbed into her car with an innate grace that only came from someone who had been trained to be hyperaware of their body. He waited until she had driven off before going back into the building. As he thew his jacket over the chair and sat himself down at the desk, he thought about Harley and how, despite the eggshells that had been generously littered around their booth, he had enjoyed himself - and that was so unexpected, so out of the ordinary, that just for a second he wasn't angry anymore.

* * *

_I decided to put chapter two up since I already had it written, so here you go. I forgot to mention that the title of this story and the quote that accompanies it comes from the book/website 'I Wrote This For You' which can be found all over the internet if you google it. Chapter one's quote was from the Bring Me To The Horizon song 'Chelsea Smile', and chapter two's quote is from the song 'A Children's Crusade on Acid' which I will admit to never having listened to._

_You might have noticed that I haven't mentioned Tommy's arrest to do with going AWOL yet. Originally I was going to get rid of that plot bunny altogether to make it a bit smoother because I have such little knowledge on what the hell would happen in that situation, but I might include it later. We'll see._

_Anyway, hope you enjoy. Feel free to point out any mistakes, and please leave a review!_

_Have a peck on each cheek._


	3. monsters

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

oh, when will you start believing

that there are monsters beneath your bed

and all the voices of self-destruction could never begin in your head

**- 3 -**

**monsters**

* * *

After their lunch, Harley took it upon herself to shorten the distance between them and began to sit with Tommy whenever she visited the gym. To make sure that she wasn't being a nuisance she would offer to help with his paperwork, and the two would chat while they worked through his office chores for the day. This left Tommy more time to train and it kept her occupied when she had nothing else to do.

It took Harley a few trips to the gym before she gathered enough confidence to venture in after him when he disappeared into the main hall to start his work out. Inevitably, her presence annoyed some of the men but excited enough of them for the others to keep quiet. The first time she slipped into the room, those in the ring threw a few catcalls at her that she managed to catch with an easy smile. With her usual adaptability, Harley adjusted to the environment and started to enjoy her time spent beside the ring, watching as the fights progressed.

Tommy noticed from where he stood at the punching bags how the some of the contesters, especially the young amateurs, would change the way they held themselves as soon as Harley appeared at their side. They got flustered by the proximity of an attractive woman and lost their form as they delved into their fights with too much pride and misplaced enthusiasm. It was exasperating for Colt and the trainers but borderline hilarious for the others, even Harley commented on it when it got too ridiculous.

"Maybe if you kept your eyes on him as much as you do on my ass, you might actually land a punch." The audience would roar in laughter as the boys would blush, hiding their red cheeks behind their gloves. Harley chuckled and turned away from the fight, automatically searching the room for Tommy; he noticed that she did this often as if she could only relax if she knew he was there. It was an odd thing for her to do but he couldn't deny that it felt kinda nice.

When she wasn't watching the fights, Harley would sit at the side of the room and scour newspaper after newspaper, circling potential prospects with a thick black pen. She had a very particular criteria and budget that her future home needed to fit and it seemed she wasn't having much luck. A few of the gym-goers would tell her about different areas of the neighbourhood, warning her away from the shadier parts and suggesting nice roads, which helped her narrow her search down. There were some good ones but the idea of spending so much money made her heart skip a beat. Harley had gone from a penniless student to a dancer who spent more money looking for work than she actually made from her jobs. The savings she and her mother had made together were nearly dry, most of it having gone on medication, travel and hospital bills that still weren't fully paid off. While she had saved a good chunk of money by staying with Colt, she was going to have to start looking for employment as well as an apartment.

During a particularly in depth scouring session Tommy sat himself next to Harley on the bench as he towel-dried his hair, still damp from the shower. It took Harley a couple seconds to pull out of the well of house hunting and realise that he was shirtless, his tattoos clear and sharp from the thin sheen of moisture on his skin. Never one to rely too much on subtlety, she turned and began to study the intricate and varied ink designs, curious as to what they all meant. They were all very different from each other and she suspected that each one had its own story, and she wondered whether he would be comfortable telling them all. Tommy caught her staring - it was difficult not to - and sent her a sharp glance that was more reflex than anything else, but it went completely over Harley's head as she looked up at him with a smile and told him how much she admired his tattoos. Her sincerity took him by surprise and he found that he had no response, so instead jumped onto another topic of conversation and luckily, she didn't seem to mind.

"Still looking for a place?" he asked, cringing a little at the stupidity of the question for it was pretty obvious that she was. Harley nodded and lost her smile, sighing as she stared down at the newspaper without actually seeing it. Tommy could see the thin lines of exhaustion around her eyes and pulling at her lips, ropes of it wrapped around her slender hands that were lightly stained from the ink of the newspaper.

"Yeah. The ones that fit my probably-too-specific criteria are just too expensive, and I need to renew my Visa if I'm going to live here which is gonna cost a pretty penny. I need to get a job, I know that, but finding one with the flexibility to fit around my mum will be a pain in the fuckin' arse. Maybe," she said with a huff of empty laughter, the humour there but bitter, "I should just become a hooker. Night shifts, decent pay, and since it's illegal there's no taxes involved. Ticks all the boxes."

A funny taste was left in Tommy's mouth, something cold and unpleasant that made his hands twist in the towel he held, and even though he knew that Harley was only joking, he was worried for a moment that maybe she would actually consider it if things got that bad. Desperation had a cruel way of distorting a person's perspective and no one knew how low their standards would fall if everything else had already fallen around them.

"You're _not_ becoming a hooker," he told her and his eyes searched hers when she looked at him in surprise, not quite understanding the severity in his voice.

"I'll work it out," she said after a pause, unsure whether she felt awkward or strangely comforted. "I always do - there's no other option." Beneath the thin confidence lay the hardened tremor of reinforced resignation and Tommy hated it because for the better part of his life, his words had been saturated with that same tone. He knew how draining it was to scramble around for a solution that you knew you had to discover but weren't sure how.

"Isn't there anyone who you can help you out? Siblings, your father? Friends?" He was reluctant to ask such a question but he knew so little about her life and what else was there to ask?

"Nope." The singular word was elongated and pointed, the 'p' sound popping out between her plump lips. "I'm an only child and, as far as I'm concerned, fatherless. My friends are either as piss poor as me or need their money for better things. No, I'm fine." Harley shot Tommy a radiant smile and it was as if the roof had been ripped away so that the sun could come and rest within the earth of her eyes.

"You'll be okay," he told her, and somehow it came out as a promise.

"So will you," she promised back. Then, with the sun in her eyes and inkdust on her fingers, Harley picked herself up and walked back into the foyer. Some of the other fighters turned to watch her as she went past, and she was like a ghost of gold gliding through a wasteland of deadened glory and misplaced dreams. There was a glow to her, a glow that seeped into the cold floor, spread up the walls like a unlit flame, and Tommy didn't realise that he gotten to his feet until he was stood behind her at his desk.

He knew that she could sense him and when she turned to face him, her expression was in such a contrast to the divine regality that was laced tight up her spine that he took a step towards her without thinking and suddenly he was there and she was there, in each other's space and even though he was stood over her, his shoulders tense and wide, there was no hint of fear or intimidation in the woodland of her eyes, only uncertainty and something akin to shame.

"When you talk to me, you're talking from experience," she murmured, her voice breathy and rushed like she had just run from one side of city to the other. "Everyone always has sympathy - but not you. You don't have sympathy, you never have sympathy, you have... empathy, and it's just so -" She sharply cut herself off and looked to the side, her body jerking back as if she had suddenly regained control over it, and a gentle blush darkened her cheeks. She stepped back and her head dropped down and in that split second, she went from regal to submissive like a kicked dog, folding in on herself in a way that made Tommy suspect was a learned defence mechanism for when she believed she had overstepped a line. Harley expected a reaction from her outburst and so he allowed himself to react and never once did he regret it.

Tommy had to duck his head to press his lips to hers and he was struck by the push and pull of being out of his depth and yet more comfortable than he'd been in a long time. Harley tensed but didn't move away, and he took this as permission to knot his calloused hand in her wild hair, the other pressing at her waist to pull her body to his. Despite the rough intensity that was fuelling him in that moment, his kiss was gentle; and when he pulled back to try and gauge her reaction, it was Harley who brought him back to her with the fierce heat he had already come to associate with her smile. Her fingers grazed his cheek and a line of fire was left in their wake, and Tommy felt as if his skin was molten and gilt, as if he were the richest man on the planet.

"Mmm," Harley hummed when they pulled apart and Tommy looked down at her with a lopsided smile that she had never seen before. He didn't step away so he was still looking down at her, and her hand was somehow on his chest over the ink of the masks, and the gentle thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm made it hit home just how real it all was.

"What was that for?" she found herself asking, not familiar enough with the man to predict what his next move would be.

"Something more than empathy." He caught her hand, held it. "I don't know who you are, Harley," he said quietly, "but for once in a long time, I think I wanna find out."

"Well, for once in a long time, I think I want to let you." Tommy smiled and he hadn't smiled so much in one day since his brother - his true brother - had been alive, but maybe that was okay. Unable to help himself, he dipped his head for a second time and pressed his lips against hers, this time with all the heat that had been collecting underneath his skin. Her hands reached up to tangle in his damp hair and he stroked his thumb across the smooth line of her jaw, his fingers pressing against her neck as his tongue traced over her bottom lip. Harley let out a small moan, thought_ fuck it_ and parted her lips; they were pushing up against each other, warm and disjointed from the rest of the world that continued to spin around them.

Then a loud cheer from the gym as someone won a fight made them pull apart, breathing heavily as they stared unflinchingly at each other. Harley licked her lips and Tommy's eyes flickered down to watch the darting movement of her tongue, his pupils dilating. He didn't say anything and Harley wondered what it all meant; maybe there was nothing to it, maybe they were just two people with two heavy histories who needed a break from their loneliness - maybe she was just a body for him to use, for him to step out of his skin so that he might invade hers. The thought scared her and she instinctively went to step away as if mere proximity was the cause of it all, but Tommy wouldn't let her go.

"You're panicking. It's okay," he reassured her in the voice that he had only ever used with two other people in his life and they were both dead. It wasn't often that Tommy stepped into the role of the comforter but for a reason he wasn't entirely aware of, whenever he looked into her eyes and saw the muted despair there, he wanted to show her that there was more to a hard life than what she had been shown. He wanted to show her that there was more; he wanted to show her like he wished he could have been shown.

When Colt stepped out of his office a few moments later, the pair were standing far enough away from each other for him not to notice the electricity sparking between them, and he gestured to Harley with a relaxed smile.

"Come on, let's go look at that place you were talking about earlier. I need to get out of this fucking office." He slapped Tommy on the back and exited the gym, leaving Harley behind to unknowingly let her fingers gently trace an invisible line down Tommy's collar bone and chest before she turned to follow her friend out to the car. It was a small gesture but one that spoke volumes, endless thoughts transferred through that single touch and Tommy could only send his most gentle smile after her.

From his childhood to the Marines and back again, he had never had the time, stability or inclination to become involved in a relationship with someone. One night stands had been regular occurrences over the years, because the mindless, faceless release of energy into another body was in the same vein as a good fifth of whiskey: he was well versed in sex and fucking and everything else in between, but romance? The few times he had trodden the shallow waters of something similar to a so-called serious relationship, it had been like taking one step forward and three steps back. Women didn't want a man who pushed them away, who had nightmares and flashbacks and mood swings, who fought for a living and for repentance. The few women who had stuck around in his life and bed for more than one drunken night had been lulled into a false sense of romanticism because of his tragic past, thinking that maybe they could be the heroine in their very own chick flick novel. They offered shoulder rubs and puckered lips and nods of _understanding_ but they didn't really understand. They didn't understand what it was to be a solider, a fighter, a care-giver, a victim of abuse; they didn't understand what it felt like to lose their mother to cancer, their father to alcohol, their brother to some girl and their best friend to the sick irony that was friendly fire. So when those women realised that they weren't taking on a fairytale but a horror story, they packed up their shit and left - and Tommy was all the more glad for it.

Until Harley came into his life, trotting through the gym doors like the last words of a dying man. She may not understand any of those things either, but she sure as hell seemed to understand a lot more than any of the others. She had a history, one that was painful and exhausting, and sometime during the course of their unassuming acquaintance he had started to see it echo within his own. When he listened to her speak of her mother, watched her scour through the newspapers or felt her presence at his side, he was worried that her life would start to follow in the footsteps of his. He didn't want to see the anger that was chained to his soul start to leech into hers; he wanted to protect her from himself.

Maybe that wasn't the way a relationship was supposed to start but he was more than willing to plead ignorance if it meant he got to kiss her again.

* * *

From the moment they got into the car until the moment they left it, Harley couldn't stop smiling. Colt noticed but didn't comment on it, not wanting to bring attention to her brief burst of happiness in case it would be cut short if he did. Her grin faded as they went to look around one of the potential flats but even as she did her usual survey of the place, her eyes kept the gentle glow that he hadn't seen for a long time. It was nice, and he wondered what had put it there.

In fact, the glow and the smile stuck around for the rest of the day, and she even laughed in the way that she had used to when she was younger, throwing her head back and shooting out snappy comments that made Colt feel like he was back in London, surrounded by dancers and drinkers as they talked about everything and yet nothing at all.

When he dropped her off at the gym so she could pick up her car, Harley immediately went over to the main hall to see if Tommy was still there, and she scanned the bodies of the remaining few until she saw the already familiar, muscled and inked body of the man who had somehow managed to lighten her step just with two quick kisses. Not wanting to disturb him, Harley gave him a smile that he couldn't see and turned to pick up her keys. With one last wave to Colt who was going out for a business dinner, she drove off toward his flat with the smile still firmly in place.

Her phone began to ring as she pulled up to the curb and she took it out without looking at the caller ID. She answered, listened to the voice on the other end, and all memory of the smile was gone.

...

When Tommy trained that night, things weren't much different. His anger still fuelled his fists, his regret, guilt and loss forming a bottomless maelstrom that tore through his muscles and seeped into the flesh or fabric of whatever it was that he was fighting. He was just as animalistic as always, his infamous carnal ferocity still pulsing through his body like a poison in his blood - but there was a sharpness now. A clarity that he hadn't possessed before. His mind had always been clear during fights but now it was sewn into his skin, tiny threads that even he couldn't see, and they made him cut through his opponent with a slick cleanness. He could hardly believe it for his hands were drenched in too much blood and sand for them to be anything except dirty - but there he was, sharp and clean and obliterating all those who fought in the ring with him.

Afterwards, when he stood alone in the shower room, scalding water pouring over him, it was as if he was washing away more than sweat. There was a lightness to him in that moment, a weight that wasn't gone but merely lessened and whatever the cause, he had no complaints.

The walk home was almost enjoyable and Tommy took the time to take in the fresh air, look at the stars, y'know, all that pussy stuff that he wouldn't be caught dead doing if it had been a normal day - but it hadn't been a normal day and that was the whole point, wasn't it?

The lights were still on; the smell of coffee had gone. The door swung on open with a creak, icing sugar or glass dusting the carpet and he stepped across the threshold into what felt like his childhood. The weight was back on his shoulders and he couldn't remember whether it had even ever gone.

...

The screams echoed down the pristine hallway like lurching demons and Harley had to bang her fists on the wing door for the nurses to hear her over them. They buzzed her through and the lead nurse on duty ran up to her with clipboards and medications tucked into her chest pockets, her scrubs rumpled and her eyes wide. She was telling her things, things that Harley didn't care about so she ignored the woman and ran into a room that was crowded with nurses and a doctor.

Her mother was convulsing on the bed, struggling against the firm grip of the doctor as she threw back her head and screamed like a murder victim. Her long hair was tangled and damp from her sweat, her gown caught around her legs as she kicked them against anything that was near. The vein in her forehead stood out against the clammy, pale pallor of her skin and the cords of tendons in her neck strained dangerously as she bucked and fought on the bed.

"Lily, you have to calm down!" the doctor was saying, urging the nurses to hurry up as they got the necessary drugs to subdue the woman. Harley pushed past them and latched onto the side of the bed, putting her cool hands against her mother's cheeks.

"Mum! It's me, it's Harley, okay? I'm here, you can stop panicking. I'm here and I'm safe, and you're safe and everything is going to be okay - you just need to calm down!" Lily twisted her head and when she spotted her daughter, she stopped struggling.

"Baby girl," she sobbed, big tears spilling over her cheeks. "I thought - he had taken you." She pulled her hand out of the doctor's grasp and grabbed her daughter's jacket, pulling her close. Harley sighed, her eyes burning as she wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders and held her as she cried.

"It's okay," she cooed, stroking her hair as if she were the mother and Lily the child. She nodded to the doctor who quietly hooked up an IV for the woman, and with as much tenderness as he could muster, he switched over the fluids. The nurses left the room and the doctor hovered by the doorway in case Lily started up again but the morphine worked quickly and soon she was asleep in her daughter's arms.

When the doctor left, closing the door behind him, Harley bowed her head and cried.

...

One thousand days sober had meant very little against his son's anger and once the glass had been broken, it was all the more easier to see the cracks. Paddy Conlon had truly believed that he had found his way, that the light was back in his life and he could relearn how to live again. But then he had felt the cold bite of coins thrown in his face - though that was mild compared the ice shards of his past mistakes that burrowed deep through his flesh - and suddenly the mirror of sobriety was as shattered as it had perhaps always been. The AA had been his map but Tommy had taken it from him and now he got lost at every single turn.

This was something that was nobody's fault but yet everyone was to blame. Tommy had felt the cold touch of regret when he had held his father's drunken body back at the hotel, and he felt it all the more every time he found his father passed out when he came home. It wasn't often and it wasn't for nothing but it was, all the same, just as he expected.

Once a drunk, always a drunk. Tommy hated being right and he hated being the reason for it.

Whiskey bottles lay discarded and half empty on the living room floor, the television throwing a white static over the darkened room. The kitchen lamp was bright and harsh, lighting the way for Paddy as he crawled across the floor on his hands and knees, chasing after a bottle of liquor that had rolled under the table.

Tommy watched his father for a long moment. His eyes burned and his hand stung from where he was gripping the doorframe. Then, with painful clarity, he knelt down and pulled his father into his arms. Paddy caught hold of his son and began to sob, his face flushed and his hands shaking as he told Tommy over and over again how sorry he was and how much he loved him.

This wasn't the drunk man of his past. Paddy didn't drink because he was angry, he drank because he was sorry, and as Tommy held his drunken father on their kitchen floor, he wasn't sure which one was worse.

...

Tommy watched over his sleeping father as Harley watched over her sleeping mother. They had never felt so alone. Who were they to know that when they looked out of the window and into the night, they were seeing the same moon.

* * *

_This chapter's quote is from 'The Land of No Return' by the Wild Sweet Orange._

_The formatting of the last section is done in such a way to emphasis that it is happening similtaenously, rather than lots of different scenes._

_Love to hear from you, drop me a review if you can! I'm off to go make some chocolate tiffin._

_Smooch._


	4. hell

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

where you used to be

there is a hole in the world

which i find myself constantly walking around in the day time

and falling in at night

i miss you like hell

**- 4 -**

**hell**

* * *

_Sand; everywhere. Fields of it, swamps of it. It's like locusts, golden parasites that fill up in your shoes and your mouth, burning you from the inside out. The sun reflects off it and you can't see a thing, eyes squinting against the rays as you march on forwards, never stopping._

_Men are at your flank and it comforts you. On your left is your best friend, your brother, the only family you have left. He shoots you a smirk and the pair of you nudge shoulders like you're two dumb kids. You can hear the others talking, making jokes, listing all the things they're gonna do when they get back. They describe their girls, their children, their families, their friends. Talk about drinking and kicking back, watching the game or taking their loved ones on holiday. They are excited about the prospect of being normal, regular guys with normal, regular lives._

_- You gonna come stay with us, Tommy?_

_You look over at your brother and even through the thick, standard issue sunglasses you're all wearing, he can see your deadpan look._

_- Who would look after your girl if I didn't?_

_Manny laughs and you laugh and you all chime in together like you're a group of school girls and not hardened soldiers. There's no one else around and you almost feel like you're separate from the world, you and your unit on a different playing field than the rest of them. You've seen things and done things that soccer moms and school teachers and office workers couldn't even dream of, and it's as if that changes your DNA somehow._

_It's a moment of relative peace as you all saunter across the dunes and sand, the grit between your jaw and the hot weight of your uniforms not even annoying you like they usually do. When your unit first got together, you had your differences just like all the others. You bickered and you bitched and you fought but then you waded into war together and you came out the other end as brothers. You know all you need to know about each other and that little bit more, and you each have sacrificed your life for all the rest. There's more than blood between you all and blood is thicker than water, you know that as a fact._

_You're not sure how many hours have gone since you woke up because it seems like the sun is forever high in the sky, burning down on you like a wave of fire, but at some point during the day you look up and see some dark objects on the horizon. Manny gets his binoculars out and describes to you a collection of ruined shacks that seem to be empty. Pulling your backpack higher up on your shoulders, you make your way to the shacks to investigate._

_They're burned and old, most of the structures having collapsed from their own weight. There are sheets of paper with writing on them fluttering in the wind, caught in the wooden buildings and one of your unit picks up a piece to see what it says but none of you can read it and he lets it be taken by the wind._

_At first it just seems like an abandoned temporary camp for some travellers and you're not at all worried, but then you hear Manny shout. You run over to him with the boys at your back and you see him kneeling down by one of the shacks, peering inside. He shows you and you see a pile of guns and materials used to make explosives. Just as you move away, one of the others finds another shack with the same thing, though this one has blood stains on the front. You and Manny exchange a look and he goes to say something, but the sound of an aircraft distracts you both._

_You stand and squint into the sky where you can make out blots of shadow against the sun. That familiar cool tension creeps up your spine as your muscles tighten, preparing yourself for whatever was going to happen next, but then one of the younger ones shouts out._

_- They're friendlies! See the flag?_

_Your unit looks up and you can almost feel the sigh of relief as you confirm with your own eyes that the planes are on your side. Manny slaps you on the shoulder and you feel a bit light-headed like you've had too much to drink. The others start to wave their flags to signal the planes, and they begin to swoop round. You think to yourself that maybe you should tell them to get out of the debris of the enemy camp and you go to speak, but then you spot the first bomb dropping._

_- Get down!_

_It hits the ground like an earthquake, great plumes of sand spiralling into the air like it's a living thing reaching out to grab the planes. You feel Manny against you and you grab onto his vest lapel to drag him to his feet, the pair of you running in the opposite direction of the 'crafts. You see your boys running with you and they're shouting but you can't hear a thing over the ringing in your ears and Manny puts his hand on your neck but before you can turn to look at him, the rest of the bombs are dropped._

_The ringing in your ear becomes a shrill keen and you're thrown to the side, smashing through one of the shacks like you're made of nothing. It rips through your uniform and you're covered with a blanket of rock and sand, your ribs feeling like they're concaving in. You look to the side and see one of the boys but his uniform is red and his mouth is open like he's screaming but no sound is coming out - or are you just deaf? - and when you try to get to him it feels like he's moving further away._

_There's a pause between the explosions and you drag yourself to your knees, using your hands to pull you through the sand and the wood and you feel an arm beneath your hand and you have to blink to see their face properly. There's blood everywhere and for a moment you can't make out who it is but then their eyes open and it's your brother, your best friend, your family, and you wonder whether you caught a piece of shrapnel in your chest because it feels like something is ripping into your heart. He cries out something and you think it's his wife's name, and you shush him, the sound difficult when there's blood and sand between your lips but you try to soothe him, promising him that it will be okay and that help is coming and fuck, you don't know where he's been hit because theres's just so much blood and it's dark and thick and you can smell it, you can smell it like you can smell ash and burning during a fire and there's so much burning all around you._

_Manny is crying now and you're pretty sure that you're sobbing as he lets out a whine that only makes more blood spill from his mouth and your hand is on his chest, drenched and sticky and digging into his flesh and you look around to try and get some help but all you can see is dusty bodies lying still on the ground. They're not even moving and as the sand and smoke clears, there is no one but you and all is silent, not even the planes in the sky anymore and when you look back down at Manny his eyes are closed. You scream at him to wake up, to sit up, to breathe and stay calm because he will be okay, but when you press your hands to his neck it's like you're touching a doll and there's nothing there and you realise that you missed the last second of your brother's life, that he died in your arms and you didn't even see it._

_The planes circle round and you pray to God that they have one last bomb to drop because the rest of your unit is dead and you want nothing more than to join them._

* * *

The house was quiet, like the first night of snowfall in winter. It was night again and Tommy wasn't sure whether it was the same night or a year from then. The sun hadn't risen.

He didn't pull the plug when he poured away the alcohol. He let it sit in the sink and it seeped from the walls like a broken damn, the carpet damp and the ceiling leaking the stuff. The house creaked and groaned as if Paddy had gotten his bones from the foundation of the brick building, soil caught in the cracks, marrow flaking into the whiskey. The broken glass was swept under the rug, the stains and the spills meticulously mopped up. The man himself was carefully tucked into bed, a pint of water and some headache tablets waiting patiently on his bedside table.

Once the house was back to its sober state, Tommy sat on the bottom step of the stairs and cried. His jaw locked and his eyes burned and he distantly became aware that there was something on his cheeks that tasted salty when it dripped onto his lips. Every so often he would shudder and tiny choking sounds would claw through his chest, each of them wrapping around his ribs like insects that burrowed between his veins and stole away all the humanity they found there. When his tears broke down into sobs, he pressed his hands against his eyes, his entire body straining as if he was in the middle of a fight.

Broken; lost. He didn't know what to do and he was scared. It felt as if his whole life had been a lie, a cruel trick to bring him to his knees. There was no one left. All the people that he had ever loved had either left or been taking from him, and he was so done with trying. He couldn't see the point anymore. Was there one? Had there ever been one?

He had died a thousand deaths and yet he still remained. He had begged for death out on the desert and afterwards when he had awoken in the hospital. Everyone had been so white and clean and professional, offering sympathetic nods and gentle rubs on the back like he was a child with the flu, and he had screamed at them. He had thrown chairs across the room and thrown people out of it, terrified and confused and alone. He'd asked them why they had filled his bed with sand, why the water from the sink tap ran red, why the white walls were covered in dirty handprints, why so many planes flew over his room. He'd asked them why he was still alive but they'd had nothing to say.

Some official looking people had sat across from him and used words either too fancy or too dumb for him to understand, and he had spent the whole meeting staring at his hands. They spoke about apologies and certificates and medals and friendly fire and honourable discharge or leave or whatever it was that he wanted - there was only one thing he wanted - and that he was to get better because they cared about him and because he was a good soldier: it was all bullshit. It was a group of dogs with their tails between their legs because they'd fucked up and he hadn't had the good nature to die with the rest of the sorry cunts in his unit, so the officials actually had to raise their hands and acknowledge their mistake, god forbid.

When he had healed up, they had sent him on his way with a band-aid and a lollipop, ruffling his hair and ignoring the gore that dripped from his hands like thick mud.

Not knowing where else to go, Tommy had fallen back into the lap of his childhood - and only now was he realising what a huge mistake that was. He had only ever thought about how it would affect him but now he was seeing the impact his presence had on the others around him. Maybe if he had won Sparta it would have been different but in that moment, sat on that step, he couldn't picture tearing his brother apart the way he had wanted to inside the ring. Now, with only a loser's title and an unconscious father in the other room, Tommy could see the mess he had made. His father would still be sober if he hadn't arrived. Brendan would still have won the competition, he was sure of it, and - well, there was no one else in his life, not really. Just a boss, some guys he worked out next to and a pretty girl that he didn't know the age of, and he definitely didn't want to drag her down with him. It sounded pathetic to say that they all were better off without him but wasn't some stupid kid with some hair dye and a diary, he knew what he was talking about. They would be better off, and so would he.

He wished that he had died. While he was pretty sure that was different from wanting to die, it all boiled down to the same thing. He was here and he didn't want to be. He had no soliloquy to launch into, no fears about what dreams would take him if he did fall through the mortal veil of this world and into the next - no, none of that pussy stuff. There was nothing for him to fear in death because he was already in hell. He knew his demons well and the Devil sang his lullaby; there was nothing down there that could possibly faze him. Tommy wasn't scared of dying - it was the only thing he wasn't scared of.

At some point during the next few hours, his tears dried up and he moved away from the stairs. His feet dragged and he fell against the walls like he was the drunk one, his head spinning as he stood before the sink. The horrific stench of booze had sweated into every pore of the room and it swirled around him like rusting chains, the liquid the colour of stagnant piss.

Tommy stared at his reflection in the alcohol for a long while, studying the distortions with an impassive look. When it became too much, he plunged his hand down to the bottom of the sink and pulled the plug. It drained away with a hiss but the smell was as strong as ever.

As if on autopilot, Tommy grabbed the bleach from the cleaning cupboard and began pouring it on every surface of the kitchen. He got on his hands and knees like his father and scrubbed the liquid into the dirty tiles. The sweat began to pour from him and he imagined that drops of blood appeared out of the corner of his eye, and so he would turn around and clean that bit all over again.

Still, even when he had cleaned the entire kitchen, he could still smell the alcohol. Thinking that maybe it was on him, he ripped his shirt off and threw it into the sink, bleaching it and disinfecting it and soaping it down until the material had curdled and gone a sickly white - but the stench was still there, except now it wasn't alcohol but burning flesh he could smell.

He didn't stop to think and suddenly the bleach was on his skin and it was burning like the sand and the sun and he could hear explosions going off in the distance. Tommy collapsed to the ground, panting, hands slipping against the damp floor as he tried to pull himself into the present. He focused on the sting of his skin and it took a few seconds for it click that he had bleach on his arms, and he quickly ran out of the kitchen and into the bathroom where he stripped off his trousers and threw himself into the shower. He turned it to as cold as it went and stood under the water until the burning went away.

It was still dark when he got out of the shower - when would it be day again? - and he didn't watch where he was going as he stumbled, shivering and soaking, through into his bedroom. His feet caught on the doorframe and he pitched forward onto the nearest bed, face hitting the pillow with perfect accuracy. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, a new smell filling his senses, one that was familiar but distant, like a forgotten memory.

Exhaustion rattled through his bones like a cold wind and he let himself give into it. He turned his head so that he was facing the wall and his body relaxed into the sheets. Just as he felt the heavy drag of sleep pull at the edges of his consciousness, Tommy realised that he must have fallen onto Brendan's bed because what he could smell was the childhood scent of his big brother and in that last moment before he succumbed to his exhaustion, Tommy felt like he was fourteen years old again; he felt safe.

* * *

_Shorter chapter, but I felt like if I added anything else onto the end, it would detract from Tommy, which in the end, is what this story is all about. I'm going to go further into the psychology of Tommy because it's something that fascinates me, so have no fear if you think his behaviour in this chapter is quite alarming or out of character. _

_I hope that I didn't offend anyone with Tommy's commentary about what happened in the hopsital after he woke up. Again, I don't know what the formal process of that kind of situation would be, so please forgive me if I've made any grevious mistakes._

_This chapter's quote is a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay. _

_I love your reviews, so please let me know what you think!_

_Italian cheek kiss._


	5. embers

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin – yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

large moon, the deep orange of embers

also the scent, the grief of others

beautiful

but at a distance

**- 5 -**

**embers**

* * *

It took Harley a long time to gather the sufficient courage she needed to get out of the car and walk into the gym. She wasn't entirely sure why she was being so pathetic about it because it wasn't like she had actually done anything wrong. Still, she hadn't been to the gym in nearly two weeks and she was worried how Tommy had interpreted her absence. Which, in itself, was a bit arrogant because why would he give a flying fuck where she'd been... but acknowledging that made her feel really shitty about herself so she'd tried to imagine that he would have cared. Maybe he didn't; but maybe he did.

Their kiss - kiss_es_ - seemed like a lifetime ago. Whenever she thought about them, it felt like she was looking back on someone else's life because it had been so perfect, so peaceful that it was out of sync with everything that had happened since then. She had gone from grinning like a fool to crying like a child in the space of ten minutes and in her sleep-deprived state she wasn't sure how that was even possible.

She had seriously considered never returning to the gym. Harley was prone to moments of spectacular cowardice and for a long while, she had convinced herself that it would be better for everyone if she just minded her own business and focused on the more important things. It was obvious that Tommy had a lot going on and she _certainly_ did, so neither of them could possibly have the time or the emotional capacity to deal with someone else's issues. Harley could barely keep up with her own problems so how on earth could she think that she was anywhere near capable of handing his too?

But, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stay away. Maybe she was being naive about the whole thing, grasping onto the first person to show her intimacy or understanding when she was way out of her comfort zone and far from home, but there was just... _something_ about Tommy. Something that made her shiver and smirk and, miracle of miracles, _relax;_ and considering the sheer amount of stress that hung from her neck like a noose, it was nice to have that.

Which was why she had bullied herself into driving to the gym and parking the car in her usual spot. It was early but she knew that Tommy would be there already, despite not being able to see him through the window. Guessing that he was working out already, she stiffly got out of the car and entered the small foyer, eyeing up the posters that were hanging from the metal fence to the side. She could hear the steady thump of fists against the punch bags and she peeked round the corner as subtly as she could to see about five guys all milling about, doing their own thing. It was easy for her to spot Tommy at the back, throwing himself into his punches like the bag had done something to personally offend him. She could see a few of the guys glancing at him and knew that she wasn't the only one to sense his anger.

Perhaps she hadn't picked the best time to turn up, after all.

Thinking that maybe she should just cut her losses and go back to Colt's place, she turned on her heel and made for the door - but then a call of her name made her cringe and slowly pivot round again. Mad Dog or whatever his bloody name was had spotted her from his place in the ring, and he was leaning over the ropes, his tongue practically hanging out - ah, that's where his name came from - as he smirked over at her. The others had turned at his call but had quickly gone back to their training; except one.

"Yeah?" she asked, and she could hear the weariness and trepidation in her voice. She couldn't have been less enthusiastic if she'd tried, but this didn't seem to put Mad Dog off. He beckoned her over but she just moved to linger in the doorway, not fancying getting any closer to the egotistical fighter.

"Aw, come on, doll. I just wanted to see how you're doin'." Harley raised an eyebrow as she fiddled with a loose thread in her top, very conscious of the fact that she was, yet again, in what she liked to call 'comfy-chav' mode: leggings, over-sized t-shirt that made her look about twenty pounds heavier, fake Ugg boots, no makeup and a stupid bun at the back of head. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort since she had come to woo Tommy (oh my god, that was _not_ what she had come to do at all) but her thoughts had been centred around _get in the damn car._

"I'm doing just fine, thanks," she said back, and it was Mad Dog's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"You don't look it, doll. You look like you're lost without a _real_ man in your life." It took Harley a second to hold back the urge not to attack a professional MMA fighter, and instead she painted her face with a look of exaggerated realisation as if Mad Dog had just triggered an epiphany.

"Like, _oh em gee,_ I totally did not think of that before! You've literally just solved all of my problems!" Mad Dog grinned as if deaf to her sarcasm and she had to take the time to pull her jaw up off from the floor.

"Maybe I could solve a few more," he said with a wink and if Harley hadn't been so astonished by his audacity, she would have felt uncomfortable by his implications. Her fake expression dropped and she just raised her eyebrows at the man with a cold disbelief.

"If you fight like you flirt, then I'm not surprised you hit the mat so easy. My dead grandma has more charm than you." Two of the other guys snickered and Mad Dog shot them a vicious glare; Harley could see that he wasn't necessarily a naturally malicious person, but he had been fantastically humiliated in front of the people who had once revered him, by Tommy no less, so he was trying to prove his worth anyway he could - and her rebuffing his advances was not helping him any.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you have some nerve comin' in here and actin' like you're the queen of the damn place." Harley just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Okay then." She turned away, not interested in having a bitch fight with a grown man.

"Hey! I'm talkin' to you, bitch!"

"_Don't_ talk to her like that." Harley spun on her heel, having fully intended to just walk out the door, when she heard Tommy's voice. At some point during her spat with Mad Dog, he had left his position by the punch bags to stand by the ring, watching the other man with a calculating look. He wasn't glaring nor flexing his muscles the way some men did during confrontations, he was just slowly unwrapping his hands as he calmly studied Mad Dog; Harley vaguely thought that he had never looked more like a solider than he did in that moment.

"Oh yeah? Why, what you gonna do about it?" Harley instinctively stepped across the threshold of the gym but Tommy shot her a glance and she came to an abrupt halt. There was a quiet rage in his eyes and she knew that it had very little to do with Mad Dog's awful people skills: he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. She bit her lip, uncomfortable with the situation and feeling very out of her depth; though, she justified to herself, she shouldn't be so surprised that two professional fighters who had a sworn hatred for each other were so eager to turn their animosity into something a little more violent.

When Tommy didn't reply, Mad Dog jumped off from the ring to stand directly in front of him, invading his personal space in an attempt to intimidate the other man. Tommy just cocked his head, watching the fighter with a carefully restrained expression. He dropped his wrappings on the floor and Harley waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. She had half the mind to jump in between them to try and stop anything from happening but she knew how ridiculously foolish that would be.

Tommy stared evenly at Mad Dog, waiting to see whether he would have the balls to hit him instead of just puffing up his chest. His hatred for the man before him ran deep and it only seemed to grow every day; he had no qualms about knocking the man out for the third time in a row. He guessed that his abhorrence had been born from an older, darker rage but if Mad Dog wanted to keep antagonising him the way he did, then Tommy would gladly let him reap the consequences.

"What does it have to do with you, anyway?" Mad Dog sneered. "What, you fuckin' the new chick now? I would give you pat on the back for gettin' in her panties but it looks like it don't take much for her to spread her legs -"

Harley hadn't even seen Tommy move but suddenly Mad Dog was on the floor, blood dribbling from his nose, and the Marine was standing over him, breathing hard. The other guys who had been stood by, not wanting to get between the two most vicious fighters in the gym, rushed forward to help Mad Dog up, one of them getting ice for his face. Harley lurched forward and wrapped her hand around Tommy's bicep so that she could drag him away. He didn't move at first – like she had any hope of moving him if he didn't want to go – but then he gave into her insistent tugs and let her guide him out into the foyer. She pushed him down into the chair behind the desk and grabbed his fist to inspect his knuckles. They looked fine except the small splattering of blood across the back of his hand from where he had broken Mad Dog's nose.

"What the hell was that?" she asked as she stroked her thumb across his knuckles, feeling for a broken bone or dislocated joint. He may have been a professional fighter but she knew from growing up with two boys who got themselves into all sorts of trouble that it was easy to damage your hand. Tommy watched what she was doing intently, and he tried to suppress the shiver that raced up his spine from her gentle touch.

"He was insulting you," he said slowly as if it was obvious. Harley barely glanced up at him and what _was _obvious was that she was not at all impressed.

"Well, thank you for defending my honour, but don't pretend like you did that purely to be all noble on my behalf. You've got it out for that guy, don't you?" Tommy looked away and Harley nodded, dropping his hand. "Colt told me that you beat him in here, then again in that tournament thing you did." Tommy shrugged but didn't say anything, and Harley sighed as she perched on the desk, rubbing her hand across her forehead where a headache was beginning to bubble up.

"Where've you been?" Tommy asked after a while, staring down at his blood splattered hand with a strange expression.

"With my mum," she answered, too tired to even think about telling a lie.

"Is she okay?"

"No." The frankness of her answer made Tommy raise his head but she was looking to the side, eyes glassy as she dug around in her own mind. She looked both very young and very old, like new rain falling down onto the ancient earth.

"Why did you come back here?" he asked and Harley just swivelled her gaze round to him.

"Why did you punch Mad Dog?" His lips quirked and then so did hers, and it was a bittersweet moment.

"Who are you, Tommy Conlon?" They were words that been directed at him many times but yet a question that had not yet been asked of him, not really.

"Not someone you want to know."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" She was smiling at him now and there was a challenge in her eyes, just a hint of that mischief that he had only seen once before. It relaxed him somehow, the forest green of her eyes dispersing the tension that had built up between his shoulder blades during his confrontation with Mad Dog. Making a snap decision, Tommy got to his feet and grabbed a hold of Harley's hand, enjoying the feel and shape of it in his.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Harley brightened and followed him without a second thought, not even bothering to cast a look into the main hall as they passed it. He let her hand go as they got outside and Tommy led them to a small park down by the river. It was empty due to the early hour of the morning, and so they picked their way over to the grassy bank. Stepping away from the ex-Marine, Harley lay across the top of a picnic bench while Tommy went right down to the water's edge to stand with his hands in his pockets.

They said nothing because there was nothing for them to say. Neither of them wanted to ask questions and they certainly didn't want to have to answer any, and so they remained how they were for the next few hours, unmoving and peaceful. Tommy had always enjoyed being by the water: the sound of it brushing over the rocks slipped between his muscles to soothe away his anger, the coolness of the river managing to smother the burning heat of the desert sun just for a short while. Harley, on the other hand, appreciated the stillness, the silence, the clean air. She was sick of moving from place to place, the smell of disinfectant and newspaper ink, the constant talk of dosage and rent and this and that.

Perhaps it was a peculiar thing for two people to do in each other's company, but it was a rare chance for them just to _be. _There were no expectations, no rules out there in the quiet. There was no pain or sorrow, no anger or loss, no crime or sin for them down by the river. They were just two normal people, taking a time out. All the things, the horrible things, that were stitched into the skin of their pasts slowly came undone under the gentle hum of the river, the cool rush of the breeze picking them up like bloodied ribbons to float in the sky until reality meant that they had to sink back down to knot in their flesh once more.

After a while, the temperature dropped despite it getting near lunch time, and Harley sat up to wrap her arms around herself. Her clothes did little to protect her against the cold as she had dressed in preparation for going to the hospital which was always too hot in order to keep the patients drowsy. She climbed off from the table and went to stand beside Tommy, her arms tightly folded across her chest. After a minute or so, Tommy seemed to notice her presence and he peered down at her, catching her shivering. Acting out of the politeness that his mother had ingrained into him many years ago, he took off his jacket and draped it over the girl's shoulders with a smile. She murmured her thanks and tucked it around her, the borrowed warmth from his body heat quickly seeping into her skin.

"You hungry?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"First thing you need to learn about me is that I'm _always _hungry." Tommy laughed and put his hand on the small of her back as if to guide her out of the park. She knew where they were going but she didn't say anything, suspecting that it calmed him somehow, gave him an anchor to hold on to.

They went to the same diner as before and got the same food, but this time their conversation wasn't as stunted. They knew the rules now so were able to dance more gracefully around certain subjects; they laughed often and Harley took the opportunity to tell him how much she liked his laugh. This made him smile with the slightest hint of a blush and she found that so fantastic that she grinned from ear to ear like a child on Christmas Day. He teased her about her wild hair that curled around her neck, only getting more crazy as the hours went by, and her exaggerated pout made him laugh all the more.

"I didn't think you were gonna come back," Tommy said as they walked back to the gym. Harley glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and shook her head, still holding his jacket tightly around her shoulders.

"Of course I was going to come back. You can't just kiss a girl like that and expect her not to think about it." Tommy couldn't help the small grin pull at his lips as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He was starting to feel the chill in the air but like hell he was going to tell Harley that.

"You think about it?" She blushed but answered nonetheless.

"All the time. I feel like I'm forgetting it though, like it was a dream." She laughed and it was a bit forced as if she was trying not to get embarrassed. Tommy chuckled and stopped, pulling her round to face him. He felt a bit light-headed and he knew it was because the weight of his anger had lessened in the last few hours, all thanks to the woman in front of him.

"Let me refresh your memory." Not the smoothest line in the world but he didn't give her a chance to realise it as he pressed his lips to hers, their softness and taste already committed to memory. He cupped her face and he felt her press against him, all the stiffness of her body leaving in one breath. She was trusting him completely and it made something spark in his chest, something he didn't think existed, at least, not for him.

"Why," she breathed when he pulled away, "do you keep doing that to me?"

"Want me to stop?" he asked cheekily which surprised him more than it did her.

"God, no." She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pressed his hands into her waist and it was like she was meant to be there. People were looking at them, some even tutting but Tommy found that he couldn't even spare them a thought. He had to put up with so much shit in his life, surely he was allowed to have this one, small indulgence.

"I think we're going to get done for public indecency in a minute," Harley whispered conspiratorially, and Tommy smirked at her, enjoying the feel of her body perfectly moulded around his like it had been made to be so. He turned and, keeping his hand around her waist, they continued to walk back to the gym, once again lapsing into comfortable silence. They were both so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that it was nice to be able to just appreciate each other's presence without feeling like they had to resort to inane small talk. Anyway, Harley was so out of her mind that she could barely put one foot in front of the other without getting distracted by the way her lips were tingling.

Harley said goodbye to him at the door and he caught her glancing over her shoulder at him as she climbed into her car. Even after she had gone, Tommy rested against the doorway for a long while. He could Mad Dog complaining and bitching even from outside but he refused to let him or anyone else disturb his dormant anger; he knew it was only a matter of time before his control cracked and he wanted to take advantage of his calm before the storm for as long as he could.

* * *

Harley drove away wondering how long it would be until she next saw Tommy, but it turned out that she didn't have to wait very long at all. It was only when she got to the hospital that was as warm as ever that she realised she still had Tommy's jacket on. She texted Colt for Tommy's address and when she left the hospital, she drove over to his house.

It was a small house, sandwiched between a line of others like a row of boxes at the back of an abandoned warehouse. There was only one car in the driveway and the whole street was quiet, unnervingly so. Back home there had never been a quiet street, no matter what time of the day or night it was. A pale dancing light from the window implied that someone was watching the television so Harley steeled herself and knocked on the front door. No one answered for a long time and Harley wondered whether she was at the wrong house or if it was too late for people to be knocking on doors, but then the lock was pulled back and a man with white hair and a face like weathered stone appeared. His expression was expectant but guarded, and he smelt very strongly of bitter coffee.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Hi, um, is this Tommy's house?" The man swallowed, paused then nodded. "Is he in?"

"Who's asking?" His question was quite blunt, almost rudely so, but Harley supposed that it was a reasonable one to ask and she sent him a bright smile in an attempt to get him to relax. He seemed really uptight and nervous and she guessed that he was Tommy's father. Maybe they'd had an argument or something.

"I'm Harley Sinclair, I know Tommy from the gym? He left his coat behind so I just wanted to drop it off." The man looked down at the jacket in her hand and he quickly reached forward to pick it up. Harley let him take it, a tad put out at his standoffish attitude. She sighed and took a step back down the stone stairs and put her hands out in a submissive gesture.

"Sorry if I disturbed you. If it's not too much to ask, could you just let him know that I dropped by?" The man watched her for a minute or two and Harley shuffled her feet under his gaze, but then he sagged a little and glanced over his shoulder.

"No, I'm sorry, miss," he sighed. "It's just that every so often some girl will turn up outside this house begging to see my son. Fans, y'know? Some of them are quite pushy and Tommy's sleepin'... he needs his sleep, I don't wanna disturb him." Harley smiled and stepped back up, emitting the calm that she used when dealing with her mother or upset children.

"No worries. It was lovely to meet you…"

"Paddy, Paddy Conlon." They shook hands and when she leant forward, the light from the hallway splashed across her voice and Paddy's eyes widened in recognition.

"I know you!"

"Er, do you?"

"Yeah, I do! I've seen your face before, a beautiful face. Though, your hair was redder before… what was the name you said, Sinclair? Yes, Sinclair! Lily Sinclair from the hospital!" Harley dropped Paddy's hand like he had burned her and Paddy lost his smile at her cold expression.

"How do you know my mother?"

"Oh, er, sometimes the AA visits the local hospital, y'know, to keep the patients company."

"The AA?" Her tone was flat and sharp like a sheet of black ice. Paddy flinched and wrung his hands. "So they're letting random men – _ex-drunks_ – into my mother's room while she is _unconscious, _without telling me?" Before Paddy could even respond, Harley let out a disbelieving bark of laughter that sounded like the noise a condemned man might make after he got his death sentence, and began to walk away.

"Miss! I'm sorry! We had permission from the hospital, we thought everyone knew!" Harley ignored him. A small part of her suspected that she was being irrationally emotional but the very idea that men, men like her father, were swanning around her mother while she was unconscious and vulnerable and - and - oh god, tears started forming in her eyes, so much so that she had to stop.

Paddy was kicking himself. He couldn't believe that he had somehow managed to make this girl cry within the space of a few minutes, when all she had wanted to do was drop off his son's coat. He swallowed; Tommy was going to be angry with him, more so than he already was. If this woman really was friends with his son, then he wasn't going to take kindly to his father having made her cry in the middle of the street.

He didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to just shut the door and pretend like it never happened, because that was how he dealt with most things – but then he heard movement behind him and the next thing he knew, Tommy was pushing past him and running out after the girl.

"Harley!" he called out, his hair ruffled from sleep and his chest bare. "Wait, Harley! Hey, what's goin' on? Why you here? Why you cryin'?" He grabbed her elbow and pulled her round to face him, and something funny in his chest lurched at the sight of tears running down her face. She hastily wiped them away but they were just replaced by new ones and it looked like she coming apart at the seams, collapsing into her exhaustion as she stood outside his house.

"I came to give you your stupid coat back," she snapped, gesturing wildly to where Paddy still stood in the doorway. Tommy glared at him and waved him away.

"Did he say somethin' to upset you?" Tommy asked and Harley clawed at her cheeks as if trying to rip her own skin off rather than just her tears.

"The hospital is letting the AA into my mum's room! They have _no _idea, none! And I know that she must have been unconscious – _unconscious with random men in her room! – _because if she had been awake it would have thrown her into one of her fits and oh god, I can't believe this. I can't have those people around my mum, I just can't, not when it's because of someone like them that she's in the hospital in the first place!"

It seemed that she had given up trying to hide her tears and instead she began to crumble, her bones shaking and her crazy hair sticking to her cheeks as she sobbed in that way that people could only do if a part of them had died, as if someone had ripped out their insides and replaced them with shards of glass.

Not knowing what else to do, Tommy reacted purely on instinct and pulled Harley into his arms. She fell against his chest like a broken doll and he held her as tight as he could without hurting her. Her hands curled around him like she was afraid she would drown without him, and he rested his chin against her temple, feeling the way she shook in his arms, trembling and shaking as if she was held together by a single thread that was beginning to splinter. He held her the way he held his mother when she cried, and he stroked her hair the same, and he didn't let go until she had cried herself out. It was the second time that day that Tommy had held Harley in the middle of the street without a care in the world for what anyone else thought, but the circumstances were so vastly different, he could barely comprehend it.

When Harley pulled away, she was quiet and small, too drained to feel as embarrassed as she normally would have at her breakdown though she did avoid his gaze when he searched for hers. Sighing, Tommy put his fingers underneath her chin and guided her head up so that she had to look at him, and then he stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. The intimacy of the gesture made Harley blush but instead of pulling away, she gave him a shaky smile, hoping to convey her gratitude through that one look.

"How do you do that?" she whispered.

"Do what?"

"_That." _Tommy shrugged, unsure at first of what she meant but when she reached up and kissed him _hard,_ he thought he had an idea.

"I should apologise to your dad," she murmured but Tommy shook his head.

"Leave it. You did nothin' wrong." Harley sighed and slipped back against his chest, and they wrapped their arms around each other, allowing themselves that one moment of shared vulnerability.

Something had changed between them as if a small vine had knotted itself in their chests, tugging at their ribs in a way that they kinda liked. There was an energy in the air, one that crackled with an untold stress and pain they were loathe to confess to, but Tommy had seen her begin to break before his eyes and his first reaction had been to put her back together – and he would do it again and again if he had to. It didn't take him long to realise that, in that moment, his desire to fix Harley eclipsed his desire to die, and hell, if that wasn't a sign then he didn't know what was.

* * *

_Edit - I was talking total bullshit. I changed the quote at the top and then proceeded to forget that I had done so two minutes later. The quote is actually a poem called Sonoma Fire by Jane Hirshfield._

_Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I feel it's a little bit... ehhh, so I would appreciate your opinions. _

_(I want a Hardigan.)_


	6. mystery

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

the mystery of human existence lies

not in just staying alive

but finding something

to live for

**- 6 -**

**mystery**

* * *

Jumping between not giving a shit and caring just too much was overwhelmingly exhausting. A middle ground seemed almost impossible, but it always had been for Tommy; he was either too much or not enough, emotionally invested or emotionally detached, and when Harley scrawled her phone number across his forearm before she left that night, Tommy found it difficult to decide which one it was that he was feeling.

Tommy had watched many people break down in front of him: his mother, his father, his brother, his comrades, and men after men after men both in and out of uniform. His life was saturated with the despair of others and he had seen it overcome them in a heartbeat. He had been soaked by the tears of his family, his skin battered with their cries and he knew the tremor of hopelessness like he knew the shiver of the earth as the bombs fell. It was a given that when men and women went to war, at some point they would have to look down and acknowledge their battle scars - and whether the soldiers fought with guns and grenades, or drugs and hospital gowns, they all bled the same.

And if there was one thing that Tommy knew, it was the exact colour of blood. He knew the way it spread through thick fabric, the shade it was against combat green, against sand, against bed linen, against knuckles, against whiskey bottles and against the cracked porcelain of the bathroom sink. He knew the way that it pulsed out with every heartbeat. He knew the heat of it against his fingers, the way it dripped like hot wax into the dust of his unit, how it tasted in his mouth like warm, rusting pennies.

There was a small but significant number of people who had ever been of any sort of importance to Tommy - and he had seen every single one of them bleed; he had seen them all cry; he had seen most of them die. _Most_. A small mercy if there ever was such a thing. Call it a curse and sometimes he did: the people who he had loved and who might have loved him in return had bled and wept and died for him.

Tommy yearned for connection. He ached for another, someone to just be there. Sometimes he wanted it so bad that it would choke him in his sleep and he would wake, gasping and shaking from the knowledge that he was alone, but how could he ask that of someone? For to walk with him was to skirt along the edges of the left hand of death and not even a man who was trained to kill could condemn someone so completely.

Then there was Harley. A young girl, barely in her twenties, and already she was beginning to show the same symptoms. When she had driven away, Tommy had checked his hands for blood but no, only the ink of her pen stained his skin. Still, the fact remained that when she had begun to break, he had put her back together again and that meant_connection_. Connection meant a thread had begun to tie around them, red and frayed - but then thread became rope and the rope became strong, and it would get tighter and tighter and tighter until it was a noose around their necks and just like an anchor, it would drag them down into the depths, and Harley's beautiful, china doll neck would shatter from the weight of her mistakes - and he would be left there, watching and alone.

Tommy would survive. He had a habit of being the last one standing. He was immortal, invincible. He couldn't die because he had already died a long time ago, damned to die the deaths of all those that he had ever loved and continue on like a ghost, without substance, without strength and without will. Without anything but his boxing gloves and a knot of red thread in his pocket.

Kisses meant little and sex meant even less, but emotion was infallible and Harley had let hers uncoil before him – and suddenly her life was at risk. There was something about the woman that got under Tommy's skin, that made him break through the thick smoke of his own despair and see the tiniest speck of sunlight, and while he may not know that much about her, he knew that he didn't want to learn the pattern of her blood. He had seen her tears and after that came blood and after that came death, and Tommy refused to let the shallow fractures in Harley's life become gaping wounds that festered and rotted until there was nothing left but grave dirt... _and yet -_

There was a part of him that wanted to believe that there was something more. Just like his relationship with Brendan, he wanted to believe that there was something above the sunken inevitability they had fallen into. Tommy wanted to hope that there was someone, just one person, who could escape the noose, evade the anchor, and with the taste of her on his lips and the green of her eyes replacing the red of his dreams, he wanted that person to be Harley.

Tommy washed the ink off his arm but the pink markings of her pen against his skin still remained. When he woke up the following morning, the raised lines were gone but he could picture the numbers as if she had tattooed them into his flesh and no matter what he did that day, he still managed to end up sat on his bed with his cell in his hand and Harley's voice in his ear.

_"Hello?"_ She sounded distracted and Tommy could hear voices and cars in the background. He swallowed, ran his hand through his hair and decided to just stop thinking about all the blood and burning and death, just for once.

"Hey, it's - it's Tommy." There was a brief pause on the other hand and a million scenarios flew through Tommy's mind in the time it took Harley to organise her thoughts.

_"Oh, um, hi. I didn't… I didn't expect you to call, but I'm glad you did."_ Tommy could practically taste her awkwardness and strangely this reassured him for he was glad to know that he wasn't the only one who was feeling rather out of their comfort zone.

"I was always gonna call." _Was he?_ Harley let out a nervous huff of laughter, and Tommy found himself picturing her, maybe leaning up against a wall, hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, no doubt wearing black leggings or jeans and a long t-shirt that did absolutely nothing for the figure he had yet to see but had felt under his fingertips.

_"Well, thanks. It's good to know that I haven't scared you off… yet."_

"Why, you lookin' to keep me around?"

_"I didn't think you were the sort of man to be_ kept,_ Mr Conlon."_ Tommy couldn't help but smirk at her tone: forcibly light but with a hint of that mischievous nature peeking through. "Or are you going to make an exception for me?" She was pushing the boundaries that they had carefully set for their conversations and Tommy wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

"Mmm. We'll see." Noncommittal but Harley was okay with that and she bit her lip, grinning to herself like some preteen girl talking to her first crush.

_"Did you phone me for a reason, then?"_ she asked, hoping that Tommy would play along and give her the answers she so desperately wanted to hear.

Tommy offered her the respite that she couldn't find anywhere else. She was isolated in a place that she didn't know, surrounded by people she had never met and would never meet again, and the only connection she had to anything was slowly dying in a hospital bed. Tommy was her thread of reality, her breath of fresh air, a comatose minute in the frantic hour of her life. She didn't know who he was, where he had been or where he wanted to go, but she wanted to find out. Perhaps she should have been more wary because it was obvious that he had his secrets, but she had spent so long crawling around in the dark that to finally have even the briefest dawn was so staggering that she could do nothing but grab at it. So maybe she was setting herself up for heartbreak, but it was worth the risk, wasn't it?

"I was wonderin' if y'needed any help with lookin' at those places, y'know, the apartments."

_"Really?"_ Tommy shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. In his mind, it was the perfect ploy: there was nothing _emotional_ about helping her look for a place to live. He knew the area; it was something any friend or decent acquaintance would do.

_Acquaintance_? He had to be kidding himself, right? He had grabbed her in the middle of the street and kissed her like the world was going to end. He didn't think he could count her as a friend because that insinuated that they knew personal things about each other, so then what was she? Or, more importantly, what did he want her to be?

_"Um, yeah. Okay. If you don't mind helping me out, then sure. That sounds great. Thanks."_

"Don't mention it. Have you got anythin' lined up?"

_"Yeah, tomorrow, actually."_ Harley recited the address of her next viewing and it was one that Tommy knew. Careful to keep his mind blank and his voice even more so, he told her he would pick her up from Colt's the following afternoon. When Harley responded, she made no attempt to regulate the emotion in her voice, and so it was easy for Tommy to pluck out her uncertainty like a feather.

Maybe he should have said something else, just something to reassure her or maybe clarify his intentions but he instead he just said goodbye. He barely waited for Harley to reply before he hung up the phone and placed it delicately on the bedside table like he expected it to break in his hand. It felt as if they were on a precipice, gazing down into something Tommy couldn't quite understand. It was unpredictable, this _thing _he had with Harley, and even though nearly every fibre of his being screamed at him to turn and run away from it, Tommy couldn't bring himself to listen.

Harley Sinclair held significance in his life already, significance that he couldn't just ignore. Perhaps it was because she was different, something unexpected in the same old humdrum of his pathetic excuse for a life, but whatever the reason, she made him think about things other than the past. She made him relax and breathe easy, even if just for a few hours at a time. She made him laugh, she made him smile, she made him do stupid things in the middle of the street, she made him lose his head – but in the good way. Maybe there was no future for them, maybe they were just getting their loneliness and emotions all tangled up in a mess, but Tommy decided that he was more than willing to see it through.

There was the possibility of something better, something more than those four walls and the smell of burning – and maybe that was okay. He was the only one left alive: did that mean something after all? Something other than torture and hell and wishing for the death that never came? Maybe it meant a second chance, and Tommy knew that if his second chance was in anybody, it was in Harley.

* * *

A hand on her shoulder startled Harley from her dream. It dispersed quickly as she sat up, groggily blinking at the face before her that she recognised but couldn't quite place.

"Sorry to disturb you," the man said and she shook her head, yawning as she swept her hair back into a ponytail. As her head cleared, she remembered how she knew him and she let him pull her into a hug.

"It's fine. Wasn't expecting you here until next week."

"The wife decided that she didn't like boats after all so we came home early. How is everything? I've got her chart here, but I wanted to hear it from you." Harley shrugged, sidestepping the doctor to stand beside her mother's bed. Lily was sleeping, long hair cascading over the pillow like she was a fairytale princess.

"The same, really. They're still drugging her up all the time so she's barely awake enough for us to see if there's any difference. She still gets upset if I'm not here when she does wake up, though."

"I expected as much. You know the position that the doctors are in right now, Harley. We're in the psychiatric ward and until you sign her over, they're going to keep her on the medication. You're in the same position now as you've always been." Harley sighed and ran her hand through her hair, feeling that kind of ripping pressure inside from being pulled into two directions. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into his side, the way a father might comfort his daughter. She sighed and leant against him, appreciating his presence.

The man was Dr. James Warren, the brother of Erin, Harley's dance teacher at school who had filled in as a functional maternal figure when her mother had first begun to lose her mind. When Harley had told Erin that she had decided to move to the United States in order to grant her mother one final wish, the woman had immediately phoned up her brother and asked for his help. Harley had met the man many when he had visited his sister's dance school and so she'd had no hesitation in arranging her future living situation around him. He was the reason that she had come to Pittsburgh of all the places, and the reason why her mother was getting decent care despite her financial situation.

"Look, Harley. Lily isn't going to get any better. She is too weak, her mind is giving up and her body is swiftly following it. There are only two options here: put her into a psychiatric institution, or take her home. Whatever one you want to do, I will support you, but the time has come when you _need_ to make your decision. We can't keep her on this many drugs for much longer, it's doing her more harm than good."

"But I don't have anywhere to take her to," Harley said, and she was appalled at the way her throat closed up, making her voice break, "and I can't put her in an asylum, James, I just can't." The doctor nodded and rubbed his hand up and down her arm, trying to convey his sympathy.

"It's okay. I think she will be okay if we keep her here for another week, maybe two. See what you can do. If worse comes to worse, we can put her into temporary stay at the institution under my watch." Harley nodded and rested her elbows on the side of her mother's bed, feeling as if her bones were constructed entirely from steel. James patted her on the back before he went to check on his other patients, leaving Harley alone.

"What would you do, if it was me?" Harley wondered, brushing her fingers through Lily's mahogany hair. "It basically comes down to what I let waste away first, your body or your mind." Shaking her head, she stood up and turned away from the bed. The clock on the wall said that it was getting near the time that Tommy would be coming to pick her up, and she didn't want him to see her get upset again. It had been horrific enough the first time.

With not that long to go, she ducked into the small en suite bathroom that was off her mother's room and quickly freshened up her makeup, dragging a brush through her wild hair in a futile attempt to tame it. She was dressed in some jeans and a t-shirt, not the flashiest of outfits but she had a sneaky suspicion that Tommy didn't really care what she wore. Normally she was all for dressing up and looking nice, but when she was spending so much time folded up in an uncomfortable chair with sweat dripping down her forehead because of the constant heat of the hospital, looking good was at the bottom of her priorities.

Harley threw a hurried goodbye over her shoulder to the nurses and Dr. Warren then rushed out to her car. Tommy was already waiting outside Colt's apartment when she got there, so she didn't bother going inside to change. When she walked over, Tommy surprised her by getting out and going round to open the door for her which was so gentlemanly that she actually stopped dead for a second. Tommy smiled a little and she felt a weird kind of shiver in the pit of her stomach, like she was nervous and excited all at once.

Tommy remembered the address of the viewing without needing to ask. It wasn't far away and he turned the radio on to save them from an awkward silence during the drive. They did the usual small-talk bit, asking each other how they were, but Tommy thought that there really was little point of doing so considering they both lied through their teeth anyway. He knew that even though they both said they were fine, neither of them had been anything of the sort for a long time.

The place they went to see was a small flat in the outskirts of town. It was relatively nice with decent sized rooms and the landlord said that it was on for a very good price; still, Harley wasn't overly impressed.

"If you don't like it, don't get it," Tommy advised her, but she just shrugged.

"It's getting to the point that whether I like it or not is neither here nor there. The doctor told me today that I've got to decide now whether I want my mum to go to a mental health institute or whether I want to bring her home with me. I need to find a place within the next month or they're going to move her into the institute anyway. Dr Warren said it could be temporary but I have a nasty feeling that the whole process will be a lot trickier to get her out than it would be to put her in." Tommy leant against the wall and watched her as she scanned the kitchenette, opening cupboards and checking the boiler. Harley had just revealed a very personal piece of information to him as if it was nothing, and Tommy wondered whether she even realised that she had done so.

"If you ain't got time to wait, why don't you just rent somewhere for a coupla months then move when you find somethin' better later?" Harley cocked her head as she contemplated the idea and Tommy watched as the little creases in her brow furrowed in thought.

"Hmm. Assuming that I could find somewhere that give me a short-term contract, that wouldn't be that bad an idea. It would give me the time I need, I suppose. Where though?"

"What 'bout this place?" Harley sighed and looked around her, visibly not moved by the idea but practical enough to recognise that this was perhaps her best option. It was pretty close to the hospital, so much so that she could walk the distance if she had to. She shrugged before going to fetch the man who was showing them around so that she could ask him a volley of questions to help her make her decision. Tommy waited patiently where he was, listening to quiet hum of chatter of their voices in the hall. When they moved into the kitchenette, Tommy walked over to stand at her side, their arms brushing whenever Harley gestured with her hands. The man answered her questions with all the necessary enthusiasm and when Tommy asked what she thought as they walked out to his car, she seemed fairly content.

"I think I'll get it," she said as he drove them back. "It's not brilliant but it's the best I'm going to get at this short notice. The man said he would let me have a contract for only a few months so I could leave when I've got the money to get something better, and it's a pretty decent price, I suppose… and it's not like I have much of a choice. God," she sighed, "this is just so shitty. I don't know what the hell I thought coming out here, I never had the money for this, or hell, the organisational skills."

She was getting herself worked up and Tommy knew that he needed to do something to calm her down. Unable to think of anything else, he rapidly made up his mind. Forcing himself to not think too hard about it, Tommy moved his hand from the steering wheel and placed it just above Harley's knee. She stopped and looked down at his hand before glancing up at him, obviously taken aback. Fearing that she thought he was being too forward, Tommy went to remove his hand but Harley quickly laid her own over it, and then, as if recognising Tommy's uncertainty about the relatively intimate gesture, leant her head against the window and closed her eyes. Tommy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled, appreciating her efforts to not make him feel uncomfortable.

Not for the first time, Tommy wondered how many other relationships she had been in. To him, she seemed like the kind of person who could easily deal with the drama of having a partner, but then again, she also seemed quite closed off, and she was always rushing off so that could deal with something or another. Still, she appeared comfortable enough around him, if not a little unsure of herself, and he was pretty sure that she had more experience with being a girlfriend than he had with being a boyfriend –

Boyfriend. The word was foreign to him, something applied to a different brand of person than him. His brother had been a boyfriend, Manny had been a boyfriend, the boys in his unit had been boyfriends, people he fought with were boyfriends, but not him. What did it even mean to be a boyfriend? To have someone that was solely yours? From his outsider experience, it only led to two things: heartbreak or marriage, and he didn't particularly want either.

What about Harley? Did she want to be his _girlfriend?_ Maybe he was jumping the gun a bit, maybe she didn't feel that way about him in the slightest… but she _had_ kissed him, more than once. She had given him her number, had sat in silence with him at the park, had let herself break down in front of him… did that mean what he had assumed it meant? More than friendship, more… well, just more?

He glanced over at her once more. _Girlfriend_ was perhaps a bit strong but he wanted her to be _something – _he wanted her to be _his._ It was a strange feeling, wanting some kind of tie to her without actually knowing what it was he wanted. But who could blame him? Harley was the balm that had always been out of reach for him, soothing his anger like the lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was a child, sick or scared and tucked up in bed.

How did he go around breaching the subject of it with her? Even the thought of bringing it up made him shift uncomfortably in his seat, which then made him think about how they had shared very little personal information with each other. How could they be in a relationship when they were both too scared to reveal any of their secrets? Even Tommy who wasn't by any means an expert on relationships was pretty sure that things like _sharing _and _honesty_ were some of the key aspects of having a partner. Manny had said that it was about total attachment to someone, giving them every little bit of you and getting every little bit of them in return. An exchange of everything you were: mind, body and soul.

_Body. _Was Harley seeing anyone else? Tommy frowned at the thought, then realised that he was perhaps being unfair. It wasn't his business if Harley was sleeping with someone else, because they were barely friends… but the very idea of someone else sharing her bed, taking off her clothes, touching her naked body –

"Jesus!" Tommy felt Harley pull her leg away from his hand and he glanced down to realise that he had tightened his grip around her thigh, enough to make her pull away. He placed his hand back on the steering wheel and saw that his knuckles were white.

"Are you okay?" she asked, watching him carefully. Tommy swallowed, his jaw clenched tight.

"Yeah. Sorry if I hurt you." Harley shrugged, smiling a little as if to try and ease his tension.

"It's fine, you didn't hurt me. It's just one of my ticklish spots." She laughed quietly and Tommy forced himself to take a deep breath to steady his thoughts, banishing the image of Harley rolling around in bed with –

"There it is again!"

"What?"

"That expression on your face, like you're gonna punch someone."

"…Sorry."

"What are you thinking about that's got you all wired up?" Tommy didn't reply until he had pulled up outside Colt's apartment.

"I'm just thinkin' 'bout… 'bout us." Tommy stared straight ahead, hands still on the wheel as he forced the words out.

"You sound awfully serious."

"Ain't it serious? Or are we just messin' 'round?"

"That makes it sound like there's sex involved."

"_Is_ there sex involved?"

"_Woah_." Harley turned in her seat to bodily face him and Tommy realised that perhaps he shouldn't have led with that question after all, for it made it seem like that was all he was after. He rushed to explain before she got the wrong end of the stick.

"That ain't what I meant. I just wanna know what's goin' on with us, 'cause I'm well outta my depth here." Harley sighed and sat back, saying nothing as she watched him. Tommy felt uncomfortable under her unrelenting gaze but knew that she was thinking things through.

"I don't think this is a conversation that should take place in a car," she finally said. She was right and Tommy thought about where they could go. He didn't fancy going into Colt's and he definitely didn't want to go to some food place where people could overhear. He thought about his house and knew that Paddy was out at some AA meeting so the house would be empty for the next few hours.

"Wanna go to mine? Pop's out." Harley smiled and nodded eagerly, nervously brushing her hair behind her ears. Tommy nodded too and drove them back to his, hyperaware of the woman sat in the passenger seat next to him.

There was nowhere left for them to run; they had boxed themselves in. They had to take control of their future. They were the last ones standing and now they were about to discover whether maybe – just maybe – there was a reason for it.

* * *

_Also, some of you might not get/like this chapter, but I think that this very strict mental process of them both (though especially Tommy) is important because I don't think he would just jump into a relationship. There is a lot of emotional and psychological conflict in our lovely boy, and I want this to be as realistic as possible. You might think I'm going about this the wrong way, and please let me know if you do, I love to hear your opinions!_

_This chapter's quote is by Dostoyevsky. Thank you so much for you reviews, please let me know what you think! _


	7. demons

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

forever alone until i found you

and now you're always there

voice in the air, scent on my clothes -

but when the sun exposes all my demons

will you stay or run away?

**- 7 -**

**demons**

* * *

His house smelt like stale coffee and bleach. The lights were harsh and too white, cutting like a blade through the hazy shadows that lurked in the corners. It was cold and stuck, a patch of the floor even glistening as if it had been carved from ice, the whole house frozen in time. Dust coated everything, hung heavy in the air, and the flat faces of mandatory photo frames stared back at her without blinking, without life. It was as if the house was a book, thick with an old tale full of history and journey, but it had been re-bound and given a new cover, blank and shiny and false.

Tommy stared at her like she was an intruder breaking the black ice that lay hidden beneath the threadbare carpet she crept upon. The wall of the staircase was a patchwork quilt, squares and rectangles of it paler than the rest, ghosts of photos that were nowhere to be seen: Harley wondered who had once lived there on that wall, whose face was no longer welcome.

"It's nice." The compliment was weak at best and Tommy didn't even bother to humour it as he watched her gaze around his abode, his sharp, learned eyes easily spotting her discomfort like she was a target and he was lining up for the shot. Then, as if suddenly remembering who she was, he took her coat and hung it over the banister, causing a plume of dust to huff into the air. Through the glare of the hallway light, Harley could see every particle and for a second, it as if she was gazing upon a universe, a solar system of grey.

"Wanna drink?" Tommy sounded so incredibly solemn, like a man without hope. His voice rattled through the air like a copper penny in a beggar's tin. Harley clenched her fists tight as she forced a smile, trying to remember the warmth of his hand against her thigh so that she might resist the cold that curdled the previously amiable air between them. She had come too far already, put so much on the line, that she couldn't let him bow out before they had even shaken hands.

"Sure. Coffee, if you have any?" He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen without asking her to follow. Feeling foolish lingering in the hallway, Harley wandered into the living room that looked out into the empty, dark street and delicately curled up in one corner of the long couch. The leather squeaked and it was cold against her skin as she pulled her legs up underneath her, folding in on herself in that way that she did so well.

Tommy walked through in silence, the gentle steam of her drink wisping around his jawline like smoke and she thought that he looked too big for the room, out of place, out of time. He handed the coffee to her and sat down empty-handed on the opposite side of the sofa, keeping his feet firmly on the ground. Perhaps she should have thanked him for inviting her in but that made her sound like something undead, unbidden and unwelcome, which wasn't exactly how she wished to come across. So, instead, she watched him. Or, rather, she _observed_ him - and he was not necessarily in his natural habitat because it might have been his house but it was not his home, and the man who had answered the door the other night might have been his father but he was not his family (at least, not anymore - or not yet?) - and she knew that her gaze made him uncomfortable, but then, she speculated, perhaps he hadn't been comfortable for a very long time; perhaps he didn't know how to be anymore.

"Is this your childhood home?" The question fled from her the second she thought it and she had to resist the urge to slap her hand over her mouth like a child. Tommy's gaze snapped to hers with a trained precision and she nearly fell into the deep expanse of grey that threatened to swallow up her nerve.

"Yes." Such a story, such a world that lay within that single word, that acrid articulation, but she couldn't ask because he wasn't a prince and she wasn't a princess and there was no such thing as_ once upon a time_ because it was happening now and it was never just once.

"You live here with just your dad, right?" She had to ask. It would be unfair on her not to, no matter that it was unfair on him to do so.

"Yes." Again.

"Have you lived here all your life? I know you left for the Marines, but -"

"No." Different - and yet the same. Maybe she should have stopped; maybe she should have given up. He already had.

"Did you move as a family?" Oh, personal questions, how they burrowed like parasites, writhing and gouging deep down past the flesh. Something flashed across Tommy's eyes and it wasn't pain, no, it was more than that: it was torment and desecration and survival.

"Yes... and no." Different - and yes, different. It was admittance to something other than the norm and that was a step in the right direction. She knew she was asking questions that Tommy felt could only be properly answered with a deeply intimate backstory and that he was nowhere near ready to share such things just yet, so she decided to give him a break.

"Okay. Your turn." She wasn't exactly an open book but Harley felt that she was more able to relax into the game of give and take than he. Tommy watched her for a moment as if to weigh up the likelihood that she was being serious, but then he sat back and asked her the questions that she had already answered.

"Why'd you come here?" Harley raised an eyebrow at his choice of question, understanding perfectly what he was attempting to gain.

"My mum travelled a lot when she was a kid and lived here in the States for a while. When I was growing up, she always told me how she would love to go back, how we would live here one day. When I knew that she was no longer able to achieve that dream on her own, I decided to do it for her." Tommy tried to read between the lines of her response but it only told him two things that he already knew: her mother was sick and Harley was devoted to her.

"Why the 'Burgh?"

"I know one of the doctors at the hospital, he's the brother of my dance teacher, and so he's helping me out. Also, I knew that Colt lived here and I hoped that he would let me stay with him which, obviously, he did."

"How long you gonna stay?" _Oh,_ well, that wasn't fair. He already knew the answer to that, surely? Could he not see it in her eyes, in the way her shoulders dropped, in the black and white newspaper prints she scoured, searching for an appropriate place for her mother to spend the rest of her days? He knew this, Harley was sure of it, and yet he still wanted her to say the words out loud? He refused to give her even a hint of his past and yet he would force this torture upon her? Why was he punishing her, when all she wanted to do was help? Was he so cruel?

"Is this how this is going to go?" Harley asked in return and her words were sharp like glass, heavy like granite. Tommy tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the burning siren that was scratching blindly in the back of his throat.

"It's a simple question," he said back. Harley stared at him for a long moment and then she leaned forward like she was eager to share some otherwordly secret. She put down her cup then steepled her hands so that she could rest her chin on them - and she smiled. It was beautiful and radiant and stunning, but it was cold. It held none of the warmth that usually shone from her smiles, and Tommy couldn't decide whether it was the smile of the prey about to be devoured or the smile of the predator, hungry for blood.

"I am going to stay here, Tommy, until my mother dies. I can't give you an exact date, I'm afraid, because she is going to die slow. Thing is, I don't know is what will die first: her mind, so that she will be nothing but an empty shell, or her body, and she will be stuck in the cage of her skeleton - but she will die. That I know for sure... and now so do you."

Not even waiting for him to take in her words nor the way in which they were delivered, Harley swung her legs round and came to stand, and with a grace that seemed more deadly than her rage, she began to walk towards the front door.

It took a second for Tommy to realise what he had just done and another second for the guilt to flood through, and then he sprang from the couch and ran after her just as she reached the door. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her round to face him, and perhaps it was unfair that he was using his strength against her but when she tried to pull away, he refused to let go.

"Harley, I'm sorry," he said - begged - without any hesitation at all. "I dunno why I did that."

"It's like you were trying to prove a point!" she exclaimed, voice shaking with rage and despair. "What do you want me to do, Tommy? What do you want from me? I never know what you're going do next - one minute you're kissing me, the next you're pushing me away! I'm exhausted, Tommy. I really thought we had something here, but if you're just gonna treat me like I'm your emotional rag doll, then I am gone."

Tommy moved his grip from her wrist to her hand and tugged her closer to him. This wasn't something he was comfortable with but when he had realised that she was just going to walk out that door and probably never come back, he panicked - and so he knew then that he couldn't let her go. Not even if meant his history, not even if costed him the truth.

"We _do_ have somethin' here, Harley! I'm sorry, I just... I wanted t'know what you were gonna say. I didn't mean to make you upset or angry, I didn't think 'bout it that way."

"Yeah, Tommy, you didn't think, and now what? You gonna ask me more shit like that then refuse to even say a fucking word?" She was furious and her anger sparked like an electrical flame, scalding Tommy's hand but he still refused to let go. He knew that her rage was only covering up the sorrow that he had triggered and that it was now swarming around her throat like a heavy chain that she couldn't shake off. He knew this so well, he knew it as if it had been etched into his skin with her fingertips and he wanted her to know that.

"No. I wanted to see if you meant it, that stuff 'bout give an' take 'cause most folks don't. I've had chicks spill out their sob stories an' expect that to give 'em the right to know everythin' 'bout me right off the bat, an' that ain't gonna happen. I don't tell people shit like this, Harley. I don't let people into my life, I just don't." Harley sighed and used her free hand to swipe escaped hair out of her face.

He noticed then how what little makeup she had been wearing was smudged, black marks under her eyes that only exaggerated the purple circles there. Her cheeks were gaunt and pale, emphasised by the way the hall light shone down above her creating harsh shadows across her skin; her hair was unkempt, falling out her loose bun, and her eyes were red from lack of sleep. She looked small and fragile; and yet Tommy thought her beautiful, because while she appeared to be on the verge of shattering into a million pieces, she refused to break. There was a fierce strength in the sharp edges of her cheekbones, the pallor of her skin, and Tommy found himself in awe and perhaps something more.

"Neither do I, you know," Harley replied pointedly, though it seemed that her anger was swiftly dissipating. "This isn't something I do on a regular basis, I don't know what I'm doing - but I do know that this is what you do when you want to be with someone... and I want to be with you, Tommy." She looked away, suddenly embarrassed and Tommy's lips twitched into a brief smile. "But you've got to work with me here. I can't do this - any of this - by myself."

"You won't have to," Tommy said quietly, determined to prove himself wrong. There he was, standing before this brilliant flame, his light in the shadow, and he had been ready to extinguish her fire. Was he so far gone that he would tear her down so heartlessly? He had wanted to hear her say it, admit that she was waiting on her mother's death before she left, the only one in the lonely line through an empty funeral home, just walking the slow procession until she got to the end. He had wanted to hear it come from those plump lips of hers, see that dimming of light in the forest of her eyes because he had wanted someone else to feel his pain.

Harley, in all her beauty and grace, had walked into his home with a face pull of pity and a hand full of charity, creeping across the floorboards like she was a thief who realised they had picked the wrong house. Tommy had seen her pluck out missing photographs and the glass shards, scrunch up her nose at the stench of bleach and regret, shiver from the lack of warmth, lack of family. She had expected more and he hadn't delivered, and for a short moment, he loathed her for it. Harley had seen an obvious past scrawled across the heavily scrubbed walls and had grabbed it, teared at it, expecting him to play along without complaint; she had thought that an invitation into his home meant an invitation into his life and he had confused her courage for arrogance, her dedication to their potential as a demand for him to hand over the keys to his own nightmares.

And what right did she have, he had asked himself, to act like was the dominant one, the superior? To act like her problems or experiences were in anyway equal to his, but that because she had some semblance of control over her recital of them, that she was at ease with her past, and so that made her better than him? Tommy had felt like a fool, embarrassed and defensive with her seemingly calm and confident attitude towards their new game of _sharing_ - she had expected him to share, so he had wanted her to _share_ back, if only to see her crumble just for a second, to bring her down to his level, to make her the fool too.

Except, he really was the fool after all. Tommy, yet again, had let his defences erect too quickly and already they were threatening to smother out the one light in all of his darkness. He should have known that Harley didn't feel the way he had assumed she did in the slightest: only the previous night, he had held her as she cried - no, sobbed. Tommy had already seen Harley break, and why he had so desired to see her break again - just to make himself feel better - was beyond him.

"You don't have to tell me everything... you don't even have to tell me anything at all. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage here. I just... I want you to know that whatever you tell me, and whenever you decide to tell it, I won't run away or judge you. I won't be able to give you advice or help you forget, but I can listen... and maybe I can help you carry the weight of your secrets, of your past. I don't look like much and I'm not some super strong boxing champion-person, but I have two shoulders and sometimes that's all you need." Harley looked down again and Tommy saw the way she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, nervous and flustered at her deeply vulnerable speech.

_Who is this girl?_ Tommy asked himself. He ached to find out.

Discarding his second thoughts and pushing back his walls, Tommy lifted his hand and rested it against her jaw, his calloused thumb under her chin so that he could raise her head and force her to meet his gaze. She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes and they were so full of hope that the words just fell from his lips without any effort at all.

"Ma died when I was eighteen. Cancer. It was just me an' her, my brother an' Pop were still here. We left to get away from Pop an' his drinkin'. When she died, I joined the Marines an' - an' when I left, I came back here. Been to warzones an' battlefields an' towns you don't even know exist, but I ain't really been anywhere. Just the same four walls that follow me no matter where I go."

The effect was instantaneous. The tension that had been gripping Harley's body vanished and her wary, anger-lined gaze softened into a sad yet warm smile. She tilted her head so that she was pressing against his hand and she lifted her own to run it through his messy hair. It was an intimate gesture, a gentle caress, and Tommy could only hope that she would do it again.

"I'm sorry about your mum. It's very brave of you to come back here to live with your dad, even if you had no other choice." She stopped and watched him for a moment; he wondered what she saw. "Anyway, we came here to talk about us, not our pasts." Tommy looked at her in surprise, having expected her to push the matter. Instead, she reversed their grip so that she was now holding his hand and she led him into his own living room. They sat back down on the couch and this time Harley crossed her legs and sat facing him.

"I'll go first this time. Right." She took a deep breath as if to steady her nerves then looked him dead in the eye. "This is probably hasty and reckless of me because I haven't known you for very long and I don't know you that well... but I feel like what I do know is more than enough. I was attracted to you the moment I walked through the gym door," she said without shame, a slight smile pulling at her lips. "I like when we hang out. I look forward to seeing you even if I do end up making a fool of myself sometimes. I like the way you talk, the way you smile, the way you laugh. I like how even when you're really pissed off, you're still crazy-polite, like you don't know how not to be. I like how you've got all this strength but you're never rough. I like the way you light up when you're with me, when no one else is looking."

It felt like there was a thunder storm taking place in his chest, lightening racing up and down his veins with a white-hot electricity. The things Harley was saying were girly and vulnerable and too romantic for him to properly reciprocate but he was pretty sure she didn't expect him to. She was sat there smiling at him in that coy, mischievous, tired, warm way that she did and it was as if a flare had been lit in front of him, lighting up the darkened world around him with a fierce green light. In his foolishness, he had wanted to smother that fire that was within her, but now as it blazed brightly before him, he wanted nothing more than to fan the flames.

Tommy's thoughts were endless but his words were finite and they escaped him now; how could he vocalise the tumbling, burning, pouring hurricane that had suddenly erupted in his hands just from the way she looked at him? So, without thinking about what he was doing, Tommy launched himself forward so that Harley was pinned underneath him, one of his hands cupping the back of her head.

Harley's seawater eyes widened at his spontaneity but then he was pressing his lips against her like the world was imploding all around them. Tommy kissed her with an almost animalistic ferocity; he kissed her like he was dying and she was his last chance at redemption. His body was hot against hers, burning through her skin as she arched up into him, arms wrapped around his neck so that she could pull him closer, and just for that moment, he and his touch were the sole reason for her existence. The Devil was in his lips, sinful and lusting and searching for more as he pressed them against her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, the bare skin of her breasts, and Harley thought that if this was Hell, even eternal damnation wouldn't be enough.

When they broke apart, Harley was breathing heavily, her chest heaving against the weight of him above her. Tommy kept staring into her eyes and she knew that he was waiting for a reaction, and that no matter how strong the man against her was, she had full control over him now: her next words would either make or break him. It was a power that tasted like his lips, that felt like his hand pressing into her side. She unabashedly stared back, unable to hide her cheeky smirk.

"And I _really_ like that." Tommy grinned down at her and it sent her reeling, as if she had just downed a whole bottle of whiskey. "So is this happening then? Are we...?" Tommy shrugged then lowered his head so that his lips brushed against hers.

"We are," he murmured, and he kissed her again, more tenderly than before. He kissed her like he meant it and in the end, that was all she really wanted. She could feel her body reacting to his touch and when he adjusted his position above her, she could feel his react too, and yet he did nothing except kiss her. Harley was pretty sure that she would have done anything he asked of her in that moment but he didn't move and so neither did she. Tommy pressed his face into her neck and raked his teeth across her skin, making her moan and writhe, and she could practically feel him smirk against her.

"Bastard," she gasped and he laughed before capturing her in a kiss once more, biting her bottom lip when she ran her nails down his muscled back. He was built to destroy, to take down any opponent, and yet here he was, hovering above her like she was his only reason to breathe.

When the fire got too much for either of them to stand, they both sat up. They peered around the room and as if looking through the same eyes, they saw that it was no longer frozen. Their heat had melted the ice and it seemed that things did look better in candlelight after all.

They stayed on the couch for a while longer, Tommy playing with a lock of her hair while Harley gave them questions to answer. Both of them felt more comfortable than they had in a long time, and they were content with just finding out the little things. Harley spoke about her home city, her love for dance and how bad at Maths she was, and Tommy told her about MMA, the Marine life and how his talent for cooking was a closely-guarded secret. They talked about silly things, things that didn't really matter, but it was those little things that really made them who they were. It was things like favourite colours, guilty pleasures, laugh out loud moments and embarrassing memories that filled in the spaces around their pasts. They didn't know it yet, but as they shared the small things, they were slowly coming to realise that it wasn't their most tragic experiences that defined him: they were more than the things they had lost.

After a while, they drifted into comfortable silence. The cold had started to creep back in but they kept each other warm, and when Tommy next looked down, he found Harley asleep against his chest. She looked so calm and peaceful, the lines of her face smoothed out, and Tommy took a moment to watch her to just appreciate her stillness. Unable to bring himself to disturb her, Tommy carefully turned and slipped his other hand underneath her knees and brought her up into his arms. She stirred as he got to his feet but she didn't wake, and Tommy was able to walk through the house and gently lay her down onto his bed. He pulled his covers up over her shoulders and her breathing slowed, her body relaxing into slumber.

It was so very ordinary. There was a girl sleeping in his bed. They had talked and fought and kissed and talked some more. He had made her coffee and she had made him smile. He liked her; she liked him back. And that was it.

When his father came home, sober but sad, Tommy asked how he was doing. Paddy was surprised at the sincerity in his son's voice but didn't question it. He replied, a mixture of honesty and courtesy, and Tommy answered in kind. The coat over the banister didn't go unnoticed and when Tommy said that the girl from the night before was asleep in his bed because she'd had a long day, Paddy actually smiled. They slapped each other on the shoulder - awkward but passable - and bid each other good night. So very ordinary.

Tommy changed into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a plain t-shirt, then climbed onto Brendan's old bed. It didn't take him long to fall asleep listening the steady rhythm of Harley's breathing, and when his nightmares caused him to wake, it wasn't sand he saw but the smooth outline of Harley curled up in his bed. Her presence didn't keep the memories away but he found it easier to calm his panting when he knew that all he had to do was reach out and she would be there. Tommy lay back down and just as he was drifting off, he noticed that he couldn't smell the burning anymore.

* * *

_Today's q__uote is from the song _I'm Yours Tonight_ by The Academy Is..., which I think is a nice Tommy-perspective song._

_I quite like this chapter but I'm nervous to see how you guys find it. Please let me know what you think, good or bad!_

_Ciao ciao._


	8. console

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

because the world is so full of death and horror

i try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers

that grow in the midst of hell.

**– 8 –**

**console**

* * *

Watching her wake was like watching the sunrise, and Tommy knew without doubt that a new day had dawned. It was unsurprising that he woke first and he allowed himself a few quiet minutes to rest in the presence of the woman in his room, before moving to dress. Harley was serene in her slumber, one hand dangling from the side of the bed, her hair mussed and golden red from the light that was beginning to stream through the window. Though he was mindful to be as quiet as possible, his movements in the enclosed space must have disturbed her for she soon began to stir, stretching out like a cat lazing in the sun as her dreams faded.

"Good mornin'," he murmured. His voice cut through her thick curtain of sleep and she blinked up at the ceiling, disorientated and bleary. It took her a moment to realise where she was before her eyes landed on Tommy and all the memories from the previous night came flooding back. Something warm uncoiled around her spine and she smiled at him, excited by the prospect of having him in her life for good, an idea that completely distracted for her from perhaps more pressing things. She was still half-asleep and with the knowledge that Tommy had evidently carried her to his bed to let her stay the night, she was too giddy to think about anything else.

Tommy on the other hand was taking in every single detail, trying to commit it all to memory in case it never happened again. The remains of her makeup from the day before had smudged under her eyes, her hair was tangled against her neck, her skin pale and creased from the pillow, and, Tommy noticed as she stood up, she had stripped off her leggings and bra sometime during the night. There was nothing chivalrous about the way his eyes darkened as he drank in the sight before him like a thirsting man. Perhaps, at first glance, there was nothing spectacular about it, for her panties were just plain black cotton, but they accentuated the length and smoothness of her bare legs; and while her shirt was loose and unflattering, he could easily make out the gentle curve of her breasts through the thin fabric. Something began to ache deep down inside of him and despite all the fully naked women he had ever seen, Tommy still thought she was the sexiest by far.

Still, Harley was completely oblivious to Tommy's thoughts and she quickly began to picture just how horrid she felt she looked. She was definitely _not_ a morning person - she was so far away from being a morning person that it was practically a foreign language to her - and this came across from the way she looked in the morning. Her hand reached up to scope out her hair (crazy and knotted, _great)_ and her face (stiff from leftover makeup, _how attractive_), and she didn't even want to imagine how foul her breath must have been since she hadn't brushed her teeth before falling asleep. Harley automatically turned away from Tommy to try and hide her face, and that's when she realised that she was practically naked. Closing her eyes, she silently screamed at Tommy to leave, because just how fantastic was it that the man she fancied the socks off and was trying to woo was getting to see her look like a mare only a few hours after deciding to be in an are-we-are-we-not relationship with her? That was not how the schedule for courting was meant to go. But then, that was her luck so she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Can I, er, use your loo - er, bathroom, please?" Tommy swallowed, shook his head a little to clear away the lustful images he had been thinking, and then directed her to the bathroom. She thanked him without looking back and quickly shut the door in his face. He stared at it for a moment before turning to walk into kitchen, having decided on the spot that he was going to reveal his domestic side, just for her.

Cooking always made Tommy think of his mother and something sharp would twist in his stomach, accompanied by a bittersweet sense of nostalgia, but it was something he enjoyed doing nevertheless. When he had been a young boy, his Ma had made him stand next to her in the kitchen and watch as she went through the motions of cooking their dinner or baking a cake. At first he had been embarrassed at doing something so girly, but by the end of it, he was covered in flour and grinning from ear to ear. Then, when they had left and she had gotten sick, it had been his responsibility to do everything, including the cooking, and nearly all of the few good memories he had during that period of his life had involved moments of such domesticity. _You'll make a brilliant husband one day, _she had told him towards the end._ Make your lady a good dinner, and she'll give you an even better dessert._

So, once Harley had pulled on her leggings and bra, dragged a comb through her hair, wiped her face clean of makeup, swallowed some toothpaste and gargled, she emerged from the bathroom and was immediately lured into the kitchen by the smell of bacon. She peeked her head around the corner to see Tommy standing by the hob, flipping what looked like French toast over in a frying pan. Rather than interrupt him, Harley leant against the doorframe to watch him work, unabashedly admiring his body and the way he moved: he had so much control, strength and agility laced through his flesh and muscle that it made her feel a little light-headed. There was a promise in his bones, a threat in his frame; he had hands that could create or destroy, a body that was built to either love or kill, and - she knew without seeing them - eyes that could pin you or free you.

"You watch me a lot," Tommy murmured, startling her from her admiration. Her studious expression fell into a smile and she loped over to him to stand at his back, her hands pressing against his shoulders to steady herself as she peered down at what he was cooking. He held very still except to drop his shoulder so that she could see better, and he could feel her breath against his neck. Her weight against him was comfortable, natural. A sudden thought flared within him with unwavering certainty that he could do this: he could be this person.

"Do you want me stop?" Harley whispered in his ear, making a shiver race down his spine, one that he could barely suppress. Feeling his slight tremor, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and let her hands slid down his back, enjoying how warm and solid he was beneath her touch. When she pressed her lips against the back of his neck, she felt his muscles tighten and she gave a lazy smile that he couldn't see.

"Where are your plates and cutlery?" she asked him, trying to sound as neutral as possible though a hint of teasing still slipped through. Tommy hesitated; normally he would have told her to sit down and let him do it, the way his mother raised him, but if she kept touching and kissing him like that, he was going to burn something which would completely ruin his whole domestic bit. So, he told her where everything was kept and breathed a sigh of relief when the burn of her touch was replaced the cool air of her absence.

"Oh my god, this is _amazing!"_ Harley exclaimed when they sat down to eat, staring up at him with a sincere look of astonishment and bliss as she dug into her food, not bothering with ladylike decorum because it was just that damn good. Tommy chuckled and shrugged one shoulder, not saying much as Harley praised his cooking talents, which she of course promised to keep quiet about. When they had both finished, she jumped up before he could even blink and snatched both their plates before trotting over to the sink. Tommy went to pull her away, his fingers brushing against her wrist but his protests died on his lips as she insisted.

"If you make the breakfast, then I wash up. It's only fair."

"You're a guest," Tommy argued back.

"Only more reason for me to mind my manners, then," she said with a cheeky smile, and Tommy rolled his eyes, letting her have her way. Feeling awkward just standing there and watching her clean their dishes, he busied himself with tidying away the ingredients he had used, ignoring her complaints.

"That's included in the washing up!" she told him with a pout.

"Compromise," he shot back at her, and Harley flipped up her middle finger, though the effect was severely diminished by the soap bubbles that were sliding down her hand. He teased her so she flicked water at him, laughing as he dodged her attack and pulled her against him. Harley pressed her sodden hands against his chest so he plunged his hand into the sink and threw a fistful of water and bubbles at her face in retaliation, snickering when she squealed and stared at him in mock affront. Seeing a chance for victory, Tommy stuck his wet hands up her shirt, placing them flat against her back so that she arched into him, hissing out a curse as she did so.

"Truce?" he asked her, grinning as she squirmed against him.

"Truce, truce!" she called, feigning defeat, but as he went to pull away she grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled his mouth down to hers which served to both distract him and cover his cheek in bubbles.

Tommy was taken aback for a moment but then it registered that she was kissing him and so he started to move his lips against hers, his hands snaking down to cup her thighs for a moment before he lifted her up and placed her on the counter. Water soaked through her leggings but Harley didn't even notice because he started to trail burning touches down her jaw and neck, gently sucking on her skin and grazing his teeth against it as he pressed his fingertips into her back, his thumb coming round to stroke under the edge of her bra. In response, Harley wrapped her legs around his waist, linking them at the ankle, and she could feel him pressing against her - and it was silly but even that slight pressure made her breathless and hot and lost in his depths, and suddenly she was drowning in him, his searching, strong hands the only thing keeping her from crumbling. She moaned, perhaps too loudly for that time of the morning, but Tommy only let out a wordless grumble against her neck in response and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse point, feeling the rush of her heartbeat beneath his lips. He felt drunk, somewhere between being grounded and weightless, as if he were caught in the tide that dragged him back and forth against the shore. It made him feel powerful and small all at once, and he wasn't sure who was holding who up anymore. He wanted to touch her, taste her, hear her scream his name, and his fingers travelled up to her bra clasp, ready to strip her of that unflattering shirt when he sensed movement behind him, though it was Harley who saw him first.

"Jesus, fuck," she cursed, uncrossing her legs and pushing at Tommy's chest so she could hop off the counter. Her cheeks went pink and she swallowed nervously, looking away from the man who was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the couple with an unfathomable look. Tommy moved his grip so that his hands were gently resting on Harley's waist, and he turned to face his father, not yet sure whether he was annoyed or embarrassed at the interruption.

"Sorry, I - I came to get some coffee," Paddy said quietly, gesturing half-heartedly to the pot sat on the counter. Tommy nodded and stepped to the side, bringing Harley with him so that she was kept half out of sight at all times, though he wasn't really sure why he felt the need to. Paddy hesitantly walked across towards the coffee pot and began to pour himself a cup; the tension in the air was tangible and a million degrees of awkward.

"So, um, you're the girl from the other night." It was a rocky start but the old man was trying to make conversation and even though Harley wanted nothing more than to scarper, he looked too sad and worn for her to ignore.

"Yes, Sir, I am," she replied even though it wasn't a question, half out of habit, half out of politeness. After all, if she was hoping to remain in Tommy's life for the foreseeable future, it wasn't a bad idea to play nice with his dad. Tommy glanced down at her, watching the way she held herself, the way her lips shaped around her pale words.

"And you stayed the night?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You with Tommy?" Harley sneaked a look at the man in question whose his features had set in a hard, defensive line; she smiled.

"Yes, Sir." Her quick response took Tommy by surprise and his expression softened when he gazed down at her, a tiny smile pulling at one corner of his lips which were still slightly swollen from their fierce, eager kissing. Paddy said something else but neither of them heard it as they smiled at each other, and the next time they looked, the man was leaving the room. He gave them a meagre wave as he disappeared upstairs and the pair waited a moment until they heard his door close before moving. Harley couldn't help it and she laughed, slightly hysterical as she threw her face into her hands and shook her head in disbelief.

"That was so high school!" she exclaimed and Tommy laughed, ruffling her hair before moving away. He quickly wiped a cloth over the counter to soak up all the water they had splashed around while Harley straightened her clothing, still blushing from the encounter with Tommy's father. In a weak attempt to change the subject, she asked Tommy what he was planning on doing for the day.

"Gonna go check in at the gym," he told her, throwing the damp cloth into the sink. "Need a lift somewhere?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind. I better go see my mum for a bit, then I wanna check out that flat we saw again. I need to see how soon I can move in and what not, 'cause as much as I love the sod, I'm getting really sick of listening to Colt snore all night long."

Half an hour later, Harley leaned over to drop a kiss onto Tommy's check before she climbed out of the car. He didn't move or reciprocate the gesture but when he leant his forearms on the steering wheel as he watched her walk up to the hospital entrance, he noticed the little swagger in the sway of her hips, the way her shoulders were held back and her back straight; he noticed the way she shone like a phoenix emerging from the ash of his comfort, and for the rest of the morning, her happiness was his.

* * *

It seemed that Harley's good day was infectious wherever she went. The nurses were smiling as she walked by their station, there was no screaming echoing through the ward and even the lights weren't quite as glaring as they usually were; but that wasn't all. Having expected to see her mother lying prone and unconscious in the bed as always, Harley stopped dead in the doorway when she saw that Lily was sitting up against the headboard, a small paperback in her hands.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the almost idyllic scene before her. Lily looked up, her fingers pausing where they were turning a page, and she gave her daughter a smile so bright that Harley felt that she was a child again.

"Come here, my gorgeous girl," Lily beckoned, raising her hand out to her. Harley stumbled forward, overwhelmed with the sudden joy at seeing her mother so lucid and calm. She clambered onto the bed and immediately laid her head down on Lily's chest, wrapping her arms around her the way she had done when she was young and upset. Lily placed the book onto the bedside table and held her daughter close, kissing her on the crown as she took a deep breath.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay," the woman cooed, stroking her pale hands through Harley's wild hair, smiling at the messy waves. There was a moment of quiet as the pair of them just appreciated each other's presence, but then Harley couldn't hold it back any longer and she began to sob. Her cries wracked through her body, painful but rejuvenating, taking a great weight off her shoulders that left her feeling breathless but light.

"How?" she gasped out, pulling back just enough to squint at her mother through blurry eyes. Lily laughed a little and wiped away her tears, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

"Oh, my baby girl. I'm so sorry for all of this. I never intended for us to end up this way - I had great plans for you, Harley, I still do! Life just got in the way."

"I thought you'd never come back!" Harley confessed, her eyes burning. Her throat was tight and it felt like there was something caught in her chest but the rest of her was glowing with unbridled joy. She had never thought that her mother would ever be able to pull herself out of her panics, her fits, her rotting state of mind; she had believed that Lily had locked up her last residual threads of sanity and thrown away the key. But here she was, smiling and talking and holding her the way she had done years ago... it was her one desperate wish, her dream amongst all the nightmares.

"Harley, honey! You know I'm never going to be far away, haven't I always told you that? No matter what happens, or where life takes you, I'll always be your mum and you'll always be my baby. Nothing and no one can change that." Lily's eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she cupped her daughter's chin.

"You're the strongest person I know, Harley. You can take anything life throws at you. Look at you! My little girl, all grown up. I remember when you were just a baby, your little hands so small they could barely wrap around my thumb. Everyone always used to say how adorable you were, with your big green eyes and crazy hair - that hasn't changed, I see!" She chuckled a little and swallowed thickly. "You were always so defiant, so protective. You did everything you could to keep us safe and I can't tell you how proud I am of you, baby girl. You're going to be an amazing mother one day, honey, you're going to have kids of your own and you will love them as much as I love you. I never had to worry about you. I always knew that you would find your way to better things, better people." Harley couldn't look at her anymore so she pressed her face into her mother's chest and bawled like a child, shaking as she sobbed, not caring about who could hear her. Lily held her tight and screwed her eyes shut, imagining the life that her daughter was going to lead: it was so beautiful that she began to cry, silent tears running down her cheeks.

"Just promise me one thing, okay, honey? Don't give up. Don't let anyone take your life away from you, because you are going to live a great life, you hear? You are going to be so happy, baby, and you will find someone who loves you and cares about you, and you will have beautiful children who adore you, and then you'll have grandchildren and great grandchildren, and you and your partner will grow old together, and you will have no regrets. You're going to be so happy, Harley, I know it. Everything will be okay. It will be okay."

Harley nodded into her mother's embrace but didn't move from her arms, and slowly her tears softened and she drifted off into a deep sleep. Lily remained how she was, holding her daughter close as she stared out the window, watching the sun fade across the sky. When the weight of reality became too much for her to bear any longer, she too shut her eyes and fell into a long, dark slumber. There were no dreams or horrors to be had; they slept and they slept well.

* * *

It was a warm afternoon and the streets were quiet. There was a gentle breeze that danced through her hair and she felt like she had nothing to say, so she walked. Harley had briefly contemplated ringing Tommy to ask him to meet her, but she knew that she would be poor company and so she kept to herself, enjoying the quiet solitude. The distance to her potential flat was hardly anything and so she took her time, for once not needing to rush.

Still, it didn't take long for her to get to the apartment, and the meeting with the landlord was even shorter as he was eager for her to move in as soon as possible. He was aware that she intended to move out again in a couple of months if she could but he needed the money to pay for his daughter's piano lessons and so he was willing for any small sum. The pair of them signed a contract and Harley wrote him a cheque, silently revelling in her one itty-bitty victory. It was something to cross off her hefty to-do list, at least.

During her slow walk back to Colt's apartment, which in all honesty was significantly longer than the short hop to her new flat, Tommy rang. He asked where she was and she told him the road name, which, of course, he recognised straight away. Rather than asking why she was there of all places, he gave her a few short directions which would take her to a dirt trail that wound round a small piece of forest, and said he would meet her there. Still in no rush to get anywhere, Tommy was waiting for her by the time she arrived, leaning against his car as he watched her meander over to him.

"You alright?" he asked, voice gruff. Harley smiled then shrugged, not quite sure how she was feeling. Tommy stared at her for a moment, his sharp eyes not missing how her eyes were slightly red and puffy, nor the faintest smudge of eyeliner on her cheek, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to stand at her side and began to lead her across the trail.

"Did you talk to the guy 'bout the place?" Harley nodded, looking down as they walked, watching the way her toes kicked at the loose gravel of the path.

"Mm, yeah. Nice guy. I've signed the contract now so I can move in next week."

"That was quick."

"I know." He nodded but didn't say anything else, and as before, they found themselves settling into comfortable silence. Tommy wanted to ask her whether something had happened because there was something different about her: she was pensive, somewhere between sad and content, but he didn't want to disturb her thoughts. Perhaps if he was patient, they would spill out into his awaiting hands once she was ready.

After about twenty minutes of walking and silence, Harley directed them to a bench that was off to the side of the trail. It looked out over a hill, letting them see down across the rare stretch of greenery in the city. Harley smiled and sat back, the wind a whisper in her hair. There was a moment of nothing; and then she spoke. She spoke and she spoke and it was like nothing Tommy had ever heard before.

"Sometimes I think about why things are the way they are, which is silly because how am I meant to know the answer to that? But I can't help but wonder. Is it better to be the one who goes or the one who stays? Is it wrong to envy the dead - do they envy us? I think being dead is a lot easier than being alive. People underestimate what it means to be the last one left standing. It's ironic, really, that when you're the only one who has survived, all you really want to do is die. And everyone else... they hate you for surviving; they hate if you can cope because maybe you're heartless, and they hate you if you can't because you're throwing your second chance away. Damned if you do, damned if you don't - and that's it, isn't it? Those who die, they go straight to heaven, but the survivors... oh, honey, they go straight to hell. Do you think this is hell? Sometimes I think it is. Sometimes I hope it is, because then at least that way I know nothing can be worse than this."

There was a part of Tommy that was furiously angry. He wasn't entirely sure why but he stood up and walked away nonetheless. Harley didn't watch him go, just kept staring across the horizon. She knew he would come back: people will stay and argue a lie, but they walk away from the truth. By doing so, Tommy had revealed something to Harley that perhaps he couldn't have done otherwise. Her words had upset him because he was a survivor too. At first she thought that maybe it was just the death of his mother but then that would have garnered only despondent empathy - no, Tommy was a repeating survivor. From up there, high on that hill surrounded by trees and the distant clutter of the lives of strangers, Harley could scent the death on him. His survival burned like incense, thick smoke twisting up and around his throat, plaguing him until his bones grew brittle and his skeleton collapsed from the parasite of his guilt.

When he did come back, he sat down next to her like he was afraid he would shatter if he made any sudden movements. There was something radiating from him but his emotions and thoughts were so entangled, ensnared by the resonance of his memories that she couldn't make out what it was.

"Maybe this could be heaven, too," Harley said lightly, as if he had never left. "I suppose that's the thing about survival. It can go either way."

* * *

_Quote is by Herman Hesse from the book _Narcissus and Goldmund_. _

_Please let me know what you think, I'm really loving and appreciating all these reviews, favourites and follows! If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Apologies for any mistakes. The next chapter should be up quicker than this one as I've got a week of annual leave and I've already written the first draft._

_Until next time._


	9. ideals

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

can you understand?

someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?

for all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - i love life.

but it is hard, and i have so much -

so very much to learn.

**– 9 –**

**ideals**

* * *

It was warmer up there, up on that hill. There were birds singing in the trees around them, and Tommy thought how peculiar it was that the same world could look so different through the eyes of another. Harley's words hung like autumn leaves in the sky, his anger like a halo above their heads. It sparked and crackled with a luminosity his dreams did not possess.

"Heaven ain't possible for me," Tommy murmured. He stared down the slope at the collection of houses at the bottom, a kaleidoscope of lives.

"Well, that's not true. Of course it is," Harley argued. "Do you think hell is possible for you?" Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest, feeling uncomfortable and defensive.

"It's all I know."

"Well then, heaven must be possible. It's the balance of things. You can't have one without the other, can you? If you can have hell then it's only logical that you can heaven too." Harley smiled, smug with herself and Tommy shot her a deadpan look.

"So you think heaven's possible for you, then?" he asked meanly, then watched as she shrugged, still not looking away from the horizon.

"I'd like to think so, otherwise what's the point? I know my mum's gonna die soon and I know that if I go back home there's gonna be a whole lot of shit waiting for me, but I've got to believe in something, y'know? I know it sounds lame but I need to hope that there's just the tiniest possibility I can be happy, that I was put into this skin for a reason." Once again Tommy felt foolish for being so defensive with Harley and he forced himself to relax, letting his arm stretch out across the back of the bench, his hand resting against her shoulder. She leant into his touch, pleased that he seemed to have calmed down.

"I know I talk a load of shit sometimes," she said with a laugh and Tommy smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I mean well... and sometimes you just seem so isolated that it makes me just go on and on in the hopes that something will get through to you." Tommy watched her confess, her hands waving as she talked with a spark of passion and insistence that he knew he would miss if she left. She was right, too. Isolation was something that followed him around like a shadow, and it was slathered in guilt and shame and anger. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one in the world who felt that way, locked in some glass coffin as he was forced to watch the rest of the world go by without him, unable to hear him cry out, his memories playing over and over again on the walls around him. That because of the tragedies in his life, all the shit he'd had to go through, it meant that normal life was impossible for him: the deaths of those that he loved had carved a deep chasm in his life, one that he didn't have a hope of jumping over, leaving him stranded and alone with no chance of forgiveness.

And then he looked at Harley. While he knew that her life was nowhere in the proximity of his, her woes relatively small in comparison - fuck, did he feel like a narcissistic jerk for thinking that, but it was true - but she was on a path he had walked before. He saw where she was headed and he knew that her hopeful, optimistic flame would slowly but surely dim until there was just the ash of the life she used to lead. He knew it because the same thing had happened to him - and he would be damned if he would let it happen to her. Harley was worth more than a mediocre life, she deserved the things that had been stolen from him.

For once in a very long time, Tommy saw an opportunity for himself. While he felt that he had no second chance, that there was nothing left for him in this world, he saw the potential in Harley and he would be damned if he let that slip away from her. They hadn't known each other for very long but already she was consuming him, creeping into his life and now that he knew she was there, he didn't want her to go. Her voice, her touch, her laugh, her burning green gaze: he wanted it all. She thought that heaven and hell existed in balance, then fine, he would test her theory - she would be heaven and he would be hell: she could take all of his light and he would carry all of her shadow, existing in perfect balance.

"I wanna take you out," Tommy told her, finally making her turn round to look at him.

"What? Like a date? Really?"

"Yeah. Why, you surprised?" he asked teasingly and she grinned.

"Well, yeah... I didn't peg you for the date kind of guy. No offence, or anything. I'm glad you are though... as long as you're not doing it just to get into my pants or something. I haven't been on a date - a proper date - in forever." Tommy laughed - a loud, proper laugh - and it made Harley shiver a little. Her smile widened and she leant into him, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. Her hand moved round to rest on his chest and in that moment, she felt more comfortable than she had since she had moved. It felt very natural and very real, and she knew that she would give a hell of a lot to keep this man in her arms.

"Where are we, um, where are we going then?" Harley asked. Tommy shrugged, thinking about the different places in town he could take her.

"Not sure. You gotta place in mind?" She shook her head, saying that she didn't know the town well enough. "Okay then. How 'bout Italian? There's a lil' place I run by ev'ry mornin', seems nice enough." Harley nodded, still smiling that beaming smile that made all of his darkness run and hide.

"Once you've moved in, I'll take you out," he told her and she said nothing, not needing to. They sat there for a while longer, gazing across the horizon and being content with what they saw. There was no envy as they stared down at the houses below their feet; it was nice.

The walk back to the car was a typically quiet affair but they weren't nervous, not yet. Tommy slung his arm over Harley's shoulder and she bravely took the hand that dangled across her collar bone, enjoying the raging warmth of his calloused hold. They strolled as if they didn't have a care in the world, as if their closeness was common and well-practiced: they had pulled on a different skin, stepping into the shoes of people they could have been if things were different, people they silently wished they could still be. Tommy thought that maybe it was the thin air at the top of the trail messing with his mind because he didn't even worry when passersby glanced their way, eyeing up their clasped hands, the way their hips jostled with each step they took. He felt a bit like a teenager again, walking along with his first crush. If he didn't keep his cool, before he knew it he would probably start blushing, listening to love songs and drawing hearts around her name.

Tommy pulled up at Colt's apartment and let the car idle for a bit, Harley not making a move to get out. They watched each other for a while and he saw the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her top, slightly shaky as if she was recovering from a sugar rush. The fire in her eyes had settled into a cool smoulder and he knew that her thoughts had started to cloud again. Moving slow as if afraid he would startle her, he leant across and gently touched her thigh with his fingertips before moving away again.

"You okay?" he asked her, voice low. Harley smiled and though it was sad, he saw the hope behind it. She stopped fidgeting and breathed in deep, her brow furrowing for a quick moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about my mum." Tommy frowned, immediately thinking the worst.

"Is she... getting worse?" he asked, very quietly, not quite sure how else to phrase it.

"Oh, no. The opposite actually - for today at least. She's rarely awake and when she is, she's not very lucid. She has these screaming, panic attacks until the nurses knock her out again, but today she was calm and normal and... herself. It was really nice. It's funny how things change without you realising. She's been like this for so long now, it's almost like it's lost it's... I wanna say novelty but that's the wrong word - it's become the norm. When I think of her now, I don't think of her as she used to be but as a sick woman who I need to take care of. But today she was so normal and it was like she was never sick in the first place. She was my mum again and I was her baby and it put things into perspective." She paused, then huffed out a small laugh. "That didn't make any sense, did it?"

"It made sense." He hesitated but forced himself to continue. "It's easy t' forget that they're not just some patient you gotta look after when that's all you think 'bout. I needed remindin' myself sometimes, too." Getting those words out was like trying to swallow poisoned gravel, rough and acidic in his mouth, but the way Harley kinda sunk into this grateful, relieved look once he'd said it made it worth it, though when she continued to stare up at him in that way, he got a bit embarrassed and snapped out a self-conscious _what?_ at her.

"Oh, nothing. It's just nice to know you're not alone in these things. Makes it less scary. Anyway. I'll speak to you later." Before he could even process what she had said, Harley had leant over and kissed him on the corner of the mouth, her lips lingering on his skin for a second until she pulled away and hopped out of the car. As she darted up to Colt's front door, she waved at him over her shoulder. Tommy waited until she had disappeared into the apartment before he drove off, the place where her lips had been tingling the way his fingers did when he passed them through a lit candle. He thought about her and what she had said on the way home, and it was funny how quickly things had changed. Tommy had spent a long time believing that his fate was set in stone and that he was doomed to walk the rest of his way alone and isolated, that he was a single figure in a sea of nothing: his price to pay for surviving what others did not. Nothing and no one could change his mind or make him see anything other than the hell that he himself had constructed - but then Harley had clapped her hands and the light had come on, and even though he was still stuck in the cold water, he could see the shore; and upon it she stood, waiting for him. For all his stubborn pride, Harley had been right: she wasn't alone - and as it turned out, neither was he.

* * *

The door opened and Tommy couldn't help but smirk at what Harley looked like, though she appeared to be less than impressed. There was a good chance that she had been halfway decent at some point during the morning, dressing pragmatically in some black shorts, a camisole and a large sweater (though in all fairness that last one probably should have been thrown out a long time ago), but now she looked like she had spent a month crawling around an attic. Copious amounts of dust and cobwebs clung to her clothes and hair, scraps of packing tape were stuck to her shorts, ink stained her hands and what appeared to be flour coated her legs and back. It was moving day and it really showed.

"Don't you dare laugh," Harley warned him and Tommy shook his head.

"What happened?" he asked and she huffed as she let him in. Colt's apartment was a mess, boxes lying sporadically around the room, flour all over the kitchenette and a large pool of dust in the centre of the hallway. Colt himself was fighting with a tape dispenser, grumbling and cursing to himself as he whacked it repeatedly against the floor.

"Apparently packing turns Colt into a deranged squirrel," Harley said dryly as she dusted herself down though it didn't do much help. "He's been going through everything over and over again. He dropped a bag of flour which went all up my back as he was checking the kitchen cupboards to make sure I hadn't left anything in there - like, why? - and then managed to empty a bin bag of hoover dust and crap on the floor in case he'd vacuumed up something of mine." Tommy laughed and called out a greeting to his friend who just raised his hand without looking, still trying to decipher the gadget in his hand.

"Have you got everythin' packed up?" Tommy asked and Harley nodded, gesturing to the boxes. He immediately went to the grab the nearest one, and started taking them out to the truck he had borrowed from one of the guys at the gym. She didn't have a lot of stuff so it didn't take long, and soon she was dangling from Colt's neck as they said their goodbyes. The older man ruffled her hair and told her to get on her way, and before she even knew it, they were standing outside her new apartment. Sure, it was scruffy and small and cold, but it was a place of her own and that was enough.

"Here comes the fun part!" Harley said excitedly and Tommy rolled his eyes, jokingly asking why he had agreed to help her out. She just pouted for a moment before throwing him some overalls, ignoring his weak protests about having to wear such a thing.

"Stop being a pussy! This is meant to be fun." Tommy held back a laugh, liking how bossy she sounded. It made him smile.

The landlord had told Harley that she could do whatever she wanted to the place as long as the structure remained the same and she paid for it all. While she didn't have the plans nor the funds to do anything too adventurous to the small flat, she had immediately picked out some nice paint - _it took me forever to choose between caramel sand or roman stone, but I think caramel sand has that hint of warmth, don't you think? ... Oh, fuck off, this shit is important_ - and had somehow roped Tommy into helping her new home.

The sun was out so Harley threw open all the windows and the balcony, letting the cool breeze drift through and carry away the paint smell. Tommy laid down some protective sheets and began to put masking tape on all the edges while Harley organised the brushes, paint cans and refreshments for the day. She then turned on the radio as loud as she dared and when everything was ready, they each took a wall and began to apply the cream paint in lazy strokes.

"Can't believe you got me paintin'," Tommy muttered then ducked when Harley flicked paint at him, giggling like a child when it splashed against his overalls and up his cheek. He levelled her with a steady stare before turning back to his task, waiting for the perfect moment to get her back; he took his time, waiting until he had to refill his paint tray and very calmly ran his brush down her arm as he strode past. Harley squealed and gasped in mock horror, and soon a battle had broken out in the small living room. Tommy had the advantage of being a trained Marine and so his aim was much more accurate, but Harley was a professional dancer and thus was fairly skilled at dodging his attacks. Their playfulness was unexpected, taking Tommy by surprise but Harley was glowing with glee despite her unruly appearance and it made something very warm and very permanent spark in his chest.

"Aren't you meant to be letting me win?" she half-yelled, half-laughed when it was obvious that she was losing, more paint on her than was on the walls. Tommy smirked before quickly pulling her to him, the suddenness of his movement making the woman stumble against him. Before she could say a word, he was kissing her hard and his caramel-sand-covered hands were twisting in her hair. Harley moaned into his mouth and he bit her bottom lip, enjoying the way her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades as he did so; her lips parted and the warmth of her mouth spread through his entire body, making him drunk and dizzy for more. When he pulled away, he kept her against him and stared down at her hungrily, her breasts heaving against his chest, her face flushed and her lips swollen.

"You're so fuckin' hot," he told her, his voice low and husky. Harley let out a startled laugh despite the situation, and gestured to her dust- and paint-covered body in disbelief.

"Sure, okay," she laughed and Tommy frowned, gripping her chin with his fingers so that she looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.

"I ain't no liar," he insisted and she smiled, that smoulder in her eye roaring up into a blazing inferno that threatened to set the whole apartment on fire. She licked her lips and Tommy's eyes followed the flick of her tongue, and he knew that she could feel him against her thigh from the way she glanced down then back at up him, a lustful, almost lazy smirk tugging at her plump lips.

"You make me feel sexy when you look at me like that," she admitted, and Tommy grinned, the expression almost feral.

"Good," he breathed against her lips, wanting no more in that moment to kick her stupid boxes out of the way and take her right there on the sheet-covered floor - but he wasn't that kinda guy and he certainly didn't want their first time to be as crude as that. So instead, despite that carnal part of him that was twisting and reaching and desperate for more, he unsteadily stepped away. Harley frowned for a second but then smiled, understanding his intentions. Her eyes shone and he thought that maybe she was saying thank you with actually saying it, and then she turned away to pick up the paint brush. Tommy watched her for a moment, his lust turning to mere admiration, before he too turned and continued his work.

The rest of the day passed with them inhaling paint fumes and moving from the cream coloured living room and hallway, to the faint blush of the bedroom. Harley told her him where she wanted everything to be and together they arranged the furniture that had already been in the flat to match her vision; it wasn't fantastic but in that moment, with a place of her own and a gorgeous man at her side, she felt like she had all the wealth in the world.

"Everything is going to be okay," she said out loud, not seeing the way Tommy smiled at her. He hummed in agreement and strode over to hand her a drink. Together they stood, side by side, and admired their handiwork. It was bare and cold, but there was potential there, enough to satisfy Harley until she had the money to move to somewhere better. It was a stepping stone, one that would do quite nicely.

"Lemme take you out t'night," Tommy said out of the blue, still gazing around the room. "I owe you that date." Harley grinned up at him and leant against his arm, silently wondering when she had started to feel so familiar with him. Tommy peered down at her, his smile small but genuine.

"That sounds perfect. A celebratory dinner."

"What we celebratin'?" Tommy asked.

"Oh, a number of things," was Harley's vague reply and Tommy shook his head, not needing to enquire further. He was still as Harley moved round to face him and reached up to give him a soft kiss, her lips moving slowly against his. It was a tender thing, quiet and gentle; languid. When Harley moved away, Tommy ran his thumb over her lips.

"Thank you for helping me today, with everything," Harley murmured against his touch and Tommy nodded. They stayed that way for a moment, staring at each other, both lost in their wonder. Neither of them felt deserving but they were too selfish to do anything about it: they wanted one another, and that was it.

Tommy left soon after that so they could both get cleaned up and ready for their date. Harley felt a surge of excitement that she hadn't felt in a long time and she had to resist clapping her hands together from sheer glee. Within moments of Tommy leaving, she had stripped off her overalls and moving-clothes and was throwing herself into the shower, enjoying the sensation of the almost-too-hot water thundering against her skin. Knowing that she had plenty of time to get ready, she washed her hair slowly, taking her time to scrub away the dried paint and mess from the day's activities. When she was confident she was as clean as possible, she reached out for her towel and lazily strolled through to her new bedroom. It was a tiny box of a room but having her own bed was such a mercy that it could have been a mattress and a sheet for all she cared.

Deciding what to wear for the evening, as expected, took a while. Harley um-ed and ah-ed to the point that she had to walk away before she got irate, her typical indecisiveness giving her a headache. Still, she did come to a conclusion in the end, settling on a short, floaty dress of a kind of burnt-red colour with a leaf pattern and gold detailing around the neckline and waist. Content, she next focused on the superficials of the styling process; she enjoyed getting dressed up, liked putting her makeup on and doing her hair - she liked feeling pretty, and she definitely wanted to be pretty for Tommy. While he might not have that typical Hollywood bachelor look, Harley thought he was pretty damn gorgeous and so she wanted to look good enough to be on his arm.

The doorbell rang just as she was slipping into her black high heels and she smiled to herself; perfect timing. Taking her time so she didn't feel all rushed and flustered, she grabbed her jacket and bag, and calmly strode towards the door. When she swung it open, she saw Tommy stood against the opposite wall of the corridor, hands in his pockets and head tucked into his chest as if he were deep in thought. It took him a long second to realise she had opened the door, allowing Harley the perfect sight of him raising his head to slowly run his eyes up her body. The intensity of his gaze made her flush but she didn't move, hoping to garner his reaction. When he finally looked her in the eye, she blushed even more as the carnal glint she saw, and when he moved forward to stand before her, only inches away, she had to shift from the heat between her legs.

"You look... beautiful," Tommy murmured, his voice thick with something that Harley couldn't name but made her shiver. She quickly looked him up and down, a smile pulling at her lips as she admired his outfit for the evening: just like her, he hadn't gone too formal but she still found herself retracting her previous thought that Tommy wasn't Hollywood bachelor material, because with his dark jeans. long-sleeved pale shirt and black jacket, he looked like he belonged on the red carpet. The fire in her belly only intensified and she had to resist the urge to grab him by the lapels and drag him into her bedroom.

"You look pretty handsome yourself," she said instead, belatedly realising that her voice held the same unnameable edge that had lined his. Tommy smiled - was it a smile or was it a devilish promise? - and leaned around her to pull the door closed, eager to get the night started. Then, keeping up with the dominant yet gentlemanly role that he had perfected years ago, he put his hand on the small of her back and led her outside. Harley wasn't used to taking the metaphorical backseat but decided that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all when Tommy opened the passenger door for her, holding her hand tightly as she stepped into his car.

The drive was inevitably quiet but filled with the soft tones of a classical piece that surprised yet soothed Harley. Tommy kept his hand on her thigh and she ran her fingers across the back of it as she stared out the passenger window, watching the way the lights of the town reflected off the roads that were damp from a brief bout of summer rain. When they reached the restaurant, Tommy quickly walked round and opened her door for her, earning a thoughtful grin from his woman as she climbed out with all the grace she could muster.

They were greeted by the maître d' who quickly escorted them to their table while Harley took a quick glance around: like their dress, it wasn't too formal but it certainly was a lovely place. The decor was a lot of creams, reds and dark wooden panels which made it seem quite romantic especially with all the flames and abstract paintings, but the open-plan layout stopped it from feeling too crowded. Their table was to the side and by the wall so that they weren't surrounded by people on all sides which made it easier to hear each other speak. There was a single-stemmed white rose in a small, red vase in the middle of the table, with two tealight candles that added to the mood and provided a touch of added warmth. Tommy took their menus, handed one to Harley and nodded at the man who had seated them to let him know he was no longer needed.

"This place is gorgeous," Harley said, starting off the conversation. Tommy nodded, not remotely interested in it personally since the only object of his attention was sat in front of him, but he was pleased that she seemed to like his restaurant of choice. While Harley looked around, Tommy kept his eyes on her. Her hair looked red in the low light which made her eyes shine green all the more, their intensity burning through him quicker than if he had picked up the candles and plunged them straight into the heart of his chest. Having her in front of him, calm and content, a smile pulling at her full lips and her gaze forever falling back to him, it both anchored and terrified him in more ways than he could count.

He, Tommy Conlon, was on a _date_. It was so out of the sync with the rest of his life and yet so fuckin' _normal_ that it made his head spin. He couldn't remember the last time he had wined and dined a girl, especially when his intentions reached far beyond a good fuck afterwards. For some reason (scrap that, there were lots of reasons, Jesus) he wanted Harley to stay in his life; he would take her out on a date every single night if it kept her by his side – and that was what scared him. All the people that he had loved, the ones that he had wanted to stay… they had all been taken from him. They had all left in some way or another, and whether by choice or by death, he had ended up alone: the very thought of seeing Harley walk out his door – or worse, lying cold and unnaturally still on the ground – made bile curdle in his stomach.

"Would you like to hear the specials?" The appearance of the waiter at their table startled Tommy out of his thoughts – not that anyone could tell – and he was annoyed to realise that he had gotten caught up in his own negativity yet again, though he relaxed when he saw that Harley hadn't noticed. He nodded at the waiter, a nervous young man that trembled under his hard stare but still kept taking coy glances at his date, which was already beginning to irritate him, and he began to recite the specials menu. Harley nodded politely, smiling at him when he stumbled over his words and Tommy scowled at her, wishing she wasn't so nice to everyone because he knew from experience just what guys mistook kindness for. She ordered a jug of water for the table and a glass of white wine, and Tommy ordered a beer, pausing for a moment in case Harley said something about him drinking but she barely even blinked as the waiter scribbled it down then scurried away.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Harley said with a brilliant smile that flashed her teeth. Tommy shrugged and adjusted his position in the chair, mentally chanting at himself to calm the fuck down and relax. He didn't want Harley to realise he felt uncomfortable in the 'dating scene' but he had a feeling she already knew and was just being her usual polite self. This suspicion only intensified when she glanced up at him with a look that was both calming and knowing, then busied herself with the menu, inspecting each option in turn.

"God, I'm so hungry," she said, one hand fiddling with a curled strand of hair. Tommy usually hated when people fidgeted but he found it endearing when she did it for it was a small glimpse into her thoughts.

"Order whatever you want," he said, wanting her to know that she didn't have to worry about cost. She smiled but didn't argue with him, which made him relax that little bit more. He didn't want to have an argument on their first date, especially about something as petty as money.

Harley ordered a chicken pasta dish while Tommy went with the steak and chips – most of which were stolen by long, slender fingers – and they descended into their date with a smooth elegance. The flickering of the table candles and the hushed conversation of the restaurant took away the pressure of having a loud, lively conversation, allowing the pair to slip into a gentle discussion about anything that sprung to mind. They talked about nothing of importance while they ate, laughing about things that made Harley throw her head back, showing Tommy the gentle curve of her neck that he just wanted to press his lips against. The evening drifted by at an easy rate, moved along by Harley's enthusiasm and Tommy's contentment, the pair of them surprised but pleased with their own comfort in each other's presence.

When it came for them to go, Tommy scanned the bill and threw down some notes onto the table before helping Harley into her coat, something that made her blush and smile. He thought then how young she looked and he hoped that he could do this: that he could save her – and maybe save himself in the process. The waiter bid them goodbye, his eyes still watching the sway of Harley's hips as they walked out and Tommy speared him with a vicious glare that made the boy stumble away, something that didn't go unnoticed by woman on his arm.

"Getting protective, are we?" she teased him and he just gave her a dry look which only served to make her laugh out loud. It was a beautiful sound and it shot straight through him, the heat of the evening having invaded his body to settle distractingly in the pit of his stomach and lower.

The sun was beginning to set, taking the summer heat along with it and casting a dark glow across the dusty streets. Harley shivered and Tommy pulled her into his side, wrapping his strong arm around her as if it was second nature. The feel of her pressed up against him sent glorious sparks through his body and he clenched his jaw tight, yet again resisting the urge to push her up against the nearest surface and bury himself in her; and Christ, it was a strong urge - one that only sung all the louder when Harley turned to face him when they reached the car, pressing her hands against his chest as she peered up at him with those green eyes that drove him fucking crazy.

"Thank you for a great night," she purred teasingly moving her hands from his chest to his back before slowly sliding them beneath his shirt. Tommy hissed in a breath as she gently dragged her fingernails across his skin, her smirk telling him that she knew exactly what she was doing. Her gaze was molten now, more gold than green as she reached up and caught his mouth with hers, her tongue running along his bottom lip with an eagerness that went straight to his groin and made him groan into her kiss. He reacted instantly to her invitation and her tongue was in his mouth and her hands were in his hair and he was pushing her up against the car and his hips were pressing into hers without any hint of inhibition and -

"Get a room!" Tommy pulled away from Harley and turned round to tell the group of teens who had just walked by to fuck off with a snarl that made them jump and hurry on their way. When he turned back to the woman in his arms, she was smiling in an almost dopey way that made him grin.

"Take me home," she murmured to him in a voice full of promise. Tommy shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it and stepped back to open the door for her, waiting until she was comfortable before rushing round to climb into the driver's seat. The air was so thick inside the car that it was almost hard to breathe, and Tommy had to force himself to focus on the road ahead instead of the woman beside him, especially when he felt her penetrating gaze. Just when it was reaching the point where Tommy thought he would suffocate from the tension, Harley leant over and switched on the radio, grinning like a child when she heard the song that was playing. She turned it up loud, not even bothering to ask whether she could, and started to sing along.

_"Whoa-oh, livin' on a prayer! Take my hand, we'll make I swear! Whoa-oh, livin' on a prayer!"_ she sang, dancing something ridiculous in her seat which contrasted widely with the elegance and lust she had exuded only moments before. He knew that Harley was a trained dancer but she didn't look it as she dipped her shoulders and threw her head about, belting out the lyrics like she was at a rock concert. It was so bizarre that Tommy began to laugh despite himself, earning him a blazing grin that he could feel burrowing beneath his skin, coming to rest inside his very flesh. She set him on fire and it was exhilarating.

"You're mad," he said, shaking his head at her antics.

"Yes, but like a wise woman once said, all the best ones are… or something."

"Where we goin'?" Tommy asked her after a while of listening to her sing and Harley quietened to think.

"How about mine? I have a new apartment, don't you know, that's nice and empty and has a double bed." Tommy whipped his head round to stare at her but her expression was innocent as she launched into her own rendition of the next song that had come on the radio _("I've got the moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger, I've got the moo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ooves like Jagger… god, I'm awesome at this.")_ as if she was completely oblivious to the implications of what she had said.

"Yours it is," Tommy replied, the words gruff. Harley pretended not to notice and just continued to sing and dance in her seat until they reached her new flat. Together they walked up to the entrance and through the hallways; the tension crackled between them and Tommy kept his hands firmly at his sides in case she shocked him, maybe threw him backwards against the wall. From the electricity in her eyes, he wouldn't be surprised if she did. After what felt like a mile-long walk, they reached her door and Tommy stepped into the living room while Harley locked up and dropped her bag onto the kitchenette counter. He expected her to say something but she just leant against the wall and watched him, which made him feel hot and impatient and anxious all at once.

"Nice place," he said to break the silence.

"You think so? Funny you say that: I had this lovely, young gentleman help me with the painting just this morning."

"Did ya now?" Tommy replied, playing along. Harley smirked and finally moved to brush past him and switch on the main lights, turning them down to dim. "An' did you like this 'gentleman'?"

"Oh, yes, he was rather gorgeous. He was flexing his muscles and everything while he was moving my stuff around. It was _very_ sexy." Tommy gazed at her in wonder, having not expected her to be so openly flirtatious with him – but he was certainly glad that she was. He quickly discarded any anxiety he might have felt because this was a state of mind he knew he could easily step into; he might not have had any experience with relationships but he sure as hell knew what he was doing when it came to sex. Yes, _this_ he could handle very well.

"I happen t'know that he felt the same way," he drawled back and Harley grinned, cocking her head to the side.

"Oh really?"

"Mmm, in fact, he weren't thinkin' about paintin' at all." He was stalking her now, pinning her in place with his gaze, smirking arrogantly when she shivered but didn't move.

"What was he thinking about then?" she whispered, her breath hitching when he suddenly pulled her flush against him, her hands splaying out against his muscled chest. Tommy lowered his head and ever so gently brushed his lips against hers, hovering just there for a long moment, his smirk deepening when he felt her tremble with anticipation.

"Doin' this," and he kissed her hard enough to make her arch into him. His hands slipped past her rear down to her thighs and with all the dexterity that had been trained into him, he lifted her up into his arms. Harley reacted quickly, clenching her thighs around his waist and linking her ankles, her slender fingers knotting almost painfully in his hair. Already knowing his way around the place, Tommy kicked open her bedroom door and strode into the room with her wrapped round him and pressing heated kisses down his jaw. When he felt his shins hit the bed, he gracelessly dropped her down onto it, enjoying the way she bounced from the impact. Her hair was in wild waves that clung to her damp skin, her heaving chest drawing his attention to her beautiful breasts. When he just continued to stare at her, the lust in his gaze igniting a vicious heat the started between her legs and quickly spread through her veins, Harley let out an impatient whine.

"What d'ya want, baby?" Tommy asked, his voice low and seductive, effortlessly asserting his dominance. Harley bit her lip and spread her legs a subtle inch, letting her dress ride up her thighs, and she was pleased when Tommy's eyes darkened considerably, his muscles taught as he began to lower himself down onto the bed, eying her like she was the sweetest prey.

"You," was her hushed reply and Tommy was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

_Quote from today's chapter is from _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath.

_I'm loving my reviews! I've gotten some pretty interesting ones, especially one from James90 who said that at first they thought that Harley was just adding to Tommy's problems but they are now starting to see that maybe she can help him. This is actually what I'm hoping for, I'm trying not to write a character that comes across as having all these angsty problems, that's not the point: Harley is there as a sort of preliminary to what Tommy experienced when he was younger, she is him just years ago. He can see where she's heading and wants to take her off the path that he has already walked etc etc etc._

_Anyway, much love._


	10. begging

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

sometimes i just survive

but sometimes i stand on the rooftop of my existence

arms stretched out

begging for more

**– 10 –**

**begging**

* * *

**PLEASE NOTE - THIS CHAPTER IS RATED 'M' AND HAS SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE FROM THE ONSET.**

* * *

Harley was not used to giving up her control, especially to a man. No matter what Tommy liked to believe, she was no Saint: she'd had plenty of men and women in her bed, for the natural movement of two bodies was enough of a sedative to distract her from reality. She was a woman that liked to have control of a situation and sex was one of them: she knew exactly what she wanted and what the other person had to do for her to get it. Yet, here she was, relinquishing it all to this one man without even a second thought – but Tommy wasn't just any man.

Thomas Conlon was dangerous: he was a fierce, battle-hardened warrior. Harley knew that he could destroy her with one hand and he would barely notice. Perhaps she was foolish to give up her control – and thus her body – so easily to him, but she knew that if she was to give it to anyone, it would be him. She trusted him enough to not take advantage of her, to give her the satisfaction she so desperately craved.

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted when Tommy ran his hand up her hips and stomach, feeling the tension of her muscles beneath the softness of her belly. Then, with one hand moving to her chest, Tommy pressed his face into the crook of her neck and dropped a kiss under her jaw. He could feel her pulse racing against his lips and when he moved his mouth down to the valley of her breasts, he could feel the strength of her heartbeat.

Impatient and half-delirious from the lust that was clouding his vision, Tommy quickly reached down and unclasped Harley's bra, revealing her completely. As she sat there, resting back on her elbows and fully bare for him to see, Tommy was locked in a moment of unadulterated awe. He knew what she was offering and it was all he could do to not jump her right then. He sucked his breath in between his teeth as he adjusted his jeans, the strain of his erection rubbing uncomfortably against the denim, but he ignored it for the time being. Since Harley was so willingly giving him her control and trust, he wanted her pleasure to be his sole focus for the evening.

Drinking in the sight of her, Tommy bent his head down and darted his tongue over her left nipple, smirking when he was rewarded with a quiet gasp that Harley tried to silence. Spurred on by her reaction, he began to suck and nip at her nipple that hardened between his lips, while his hand massaged her left breast, enjoying the supple softness under his hand.

Tommy's mouth almost took Harley by surprise and she knew then that she had absolutely no expectations anymore. He had broken through all of her presumptions and now she was lost in the passion of the moment which was taking her completely. Her breathing was rapid, her spine arching back and her lips parted as she threw her head back. When he began to lower his kisses, his mouth hot against her stomach and thighs, Harley knotted her hand into the bed sheets, and when she felt his tongue press into the crux between her legs, she fell back onto the bed with a wanton moan. Her eyes had closed at some point so all she could focus on was the way Tommy buried his face between her thighs, his tongue swirling around her clit, dipping into her and tasting her wetness. It wasn't the first time someone had licked her out, but with Tommy it felt so intimate that she was reduced to a panting mess, submerged completely under his control and her own lust.

Tommy was kneeling before his woman, her desire coating his lips and tongue, the warmth of her thighs against cheek, and he had never felt more alive. He could hear Harley gasping and moaning above him and knowing that he was making her lose all of her composure, throw away her control - it was as addictive as the taste of her. When he pulled away, leaving her at the brink in the cruellest of ways and she cried out in frustration, Tommy could only smirk.

"Don't be selfish," he chided her, his voice rough and low. It looked as if she went to respond but couldn't muster the words and his smirk deepened. With her almost spent and aching for more, Tommy pulled out a condom from his pocket and unzipped his jeans before letting them fall to the floor; he watched as Harley lifted her head and eyed him up, a small smile spreading across her plump lips before she looked back up at him, reading his feral smirk. They both knew exactly what the other wanted and Tommy didn't waste anytime stripping himself of his boxers. The relief of having his erection free was quickly diminished by the way even the cool air of the bedroom made him ache, and he quickly pulled on the condom before he leant over Harley, needing to bury himself in her as soon as possible.

"You ready, baby?" he murmured in her ear as he moved her up the bed, and he received a deep kiss in return, Harley's tongue hot and urgent in his mouth. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, tendrils of dark hair curling around her face as she gazed up at him with devotion and desire, her fingers digging into his back as she urged him on. Not wanting to keep her waiting, Tommy positioned himself between her legs, gave her a quick second to turn back, then pushed in.

Harley arched up into him with a cry and Tommy could only hold her steady as his eyes closed, her burning heat enveloping him completely, slick and tight around him. Rather than moving straight away, Tommy paused to let them adjust… except Harley had already adjusted and she scratched her nails down his back to convey her impatience, and the sharp pain of it only seemed to heighten the intense pleasure of being inside her.

At her request, Tommy began to thrust, forgoing the gentle slow rhythm almost immediately. Harley spread her legs as far she could, arching her pelvis into him to match his movement, the waves of pleasure that had died down starting to build again with almost painful intensity. Tommy slammed into her, a small part of him wondering whether he should be more gentle but he couldn't help himself and apparently neither could Harley as she cried out, moaning his name over and over in his ear, one hand tugging at his hair, the other scratching welts into his back. Tommy bit into her neck and he could hear the bed thumping against the wall, the air in the room becoming hot and thick with energy, crackling with the electricity that was shooting through them with every thrust. He had to brace one hand against the headboard to keep his balance but this way he could look down at Harley as she lost herself in her own passion, and it was erotic as hell to watch.

Harley could feel herself building and she was close, teetering at the edge of complete ecstasy and Tommy began to urge her on in her ear, _come for baby, come on, come for me_, and it was all she could to hold on to his broad shoulders as her orgasm soared through her entire body, her toes curling as she threw her head back, crying out when Tommy stilled above her, his knuckles white where he gripped at the headboard.

With both of them panting, slick with sweat, Tommy pushed his face back into the crook of Harley's neck and just stayed there for a moment. He knew that he was heavy, that he should move off, but she didn't seem to mind, and so he let himself just be. The echoes of their passionate cries had faded into the walls, leaving behind a heavy silence that rolled through the entire apartment, and in it Harley's heartbeat pulsed like thunder across his stormy skies. He felt as if he had been drowning out at sea but had finally been washed up on the beach, landing at her feet.

Slowly, Tommy moved to lie beside Harley, smiling when she grumbled something about keeping her warm. Her hand moved to grab at his arm as if she thought he would leave, though her fingers merely brushed against his bicep for she was too tired to do much else, already slipping away. Tommy made a soft shushing noise that was entirely unconscious, and arranged them so that Harley was on her back and he on his side, her head tucked under his chin and his arm across her chest so that his thumb could stroke against her cheek. Her hair tickled his neck but he didn't care as he leant into her almost so that he was completely encasing her, keeping her safe and warm as she tumbled into sleep.

It didn't take long for Tommy to follow her. He didn't dream that night; he just slept.

* * *

The darkness faded as the sun rose, shining bright and strong through the curtains. It danced across the sleeping couple's faces until it was sharp enough to bring Tommy out of his unconscious wandering. He brought his hand up to block the glare and turned his head away, sitting up slightly in the bed as he glanced around the room, smiling when he saw the discarded clothing that was haphazardly strewn across the floor, including a pair of knickers that were hanging almost ironically off the door handle.

Something brushed against his chest, bringing Tommy's attention down to Harley and he could only smile at the way she was curled up against him: at some point during the night, she had turned so that she was facing him, one hand braced against his chest and the other thrown back against the bed. The duvet was mostly on her side as it had gotten tangled around her legs, and her hair wild and wavy, fanned over the pillow and down her cheek, with a strand caught between her slightly parted lips. Tommy reached down and gently brushed her hair behind her ear, enjoying the silkiness of it between his fingers.

The sunlight was not enough to disturb Harley from her slumber and unlike him, she basked in it. The golden glow framed her face, outlining the serene stillness that she only seemed to sink into whilst asleep. As he studied her, Tommy noticed that her cheeks were no longer as gaunt as before, nor did she seem as thin as she had been when he first met her, something that pleased him greatly. The sun emphasised the red tint in her hair, gave her a fiery blush across her usually pale complexion, and Harley seemed all the more alive for it. In his arms, naked and smouldering, she was hallowed – his sanctum sanctorum in a world of broken, burning things, his sacred touch upon the brow, the sturdy cross of a believer's fingers to fight against the succumb of shadow.

Their time together had been short and Tommy had argued with himself that they hadn't done enough to justify something like love. He wasn't immune to such a thing but he was loathe to throw the word around like it meant nothing, considering how everyone he had ever loved had either left or died. A lesser man might have used strength as an excuse but Tommy was honest enough with himself to admit that it was fear that kept him from holding such an admission back – but as he gazed down at the woman beside him, he knew that he was wholly and absolutely hers, that he always had been but just hadn't had the courage to realise it.

Now, Tommy, he ain't no poet, and he certainly wasn't the kinda man to just fall arse over tit for any chick that hopped into bed and spread their legs – and he was pretty sure that Harley wasn't that sort either. Still, it was a large leap in their relationship, one that couldn't be ignored. It wasn't just that, either. To an outsider all they had done was eat, talk and fuck, none of which equalled an heartfelt declaration of love, but it was _more _than that. Their talking had led to sharing – which in itself had led to fighting. They had quickly found the cracks in their foundations and prised them apart with their fingertips, Harley especially more than eager to jump into the crawlspace and play around with the wires, determined not to let them short-circuit. They had tested each others' waters and still dived in anyway.

Thing was, this was new to him; he didn't have the training for this. All his life, he'd had people moulding him into the person they needed him to be, whether it was the perfect wrestler, the perfect carer, the perfect Marine, the perfect shoulder to cry on, or the perfect brother… he'd always had a path to follow with a predictable end in sight – but this… this was foreign to him. He knew how to fight and how to kill, but not how to love. The love he had for his family was different on so many levels. That was from birth, expected; biologically necessary. He loved them even when they died, drank, lied and left. He didn't know how _not_ to love them, but it was a bitter, gritty, warped kind of love.

He had to love them. He didn't have to love Harley, but he did anyway.

And if he loved her, what then? What happened next? They were both relatively parentless, both alone, both angry and hurt and bitter. Harley had yet to share the finer details of her history with him but he could see it play out in her eyes, catching on certain memories like a stuck record, the emotion becoming stale but never quite fading away. He was torn, wanting to rob her of those memories and the pain that accompanied it, but he also knew that doing so would mean that she would no longer be the person he was falling in love with. He could apply that sorta logic to Harley because she was good and kind and strong, but he wasn't sure whether he could ever learn to apply it to himself - though he knew Harley would because she had that kind of faith in him.

Murmuring something in her sleep, Harley pressed closer to him, almost clutching at his warmth. Tommy was selfishly eager to see those green eyes of hers and so he began to trace lines of her body, the soft flesh of her stomach, the smoothness of her legs, the voluptuous roundness of her breasts. She shivered and began to wake up, turning onto her back as she stretched her arms over her head. Tommy watched her, holding up himself up with his elbow as she opened her eyes, blinking at him blindly for a moment before he swam into focus.

"Hi," she said with a smile, the duvet caught up around her waist.

"Hi," Tommy said back, brushing a couple strands of her dark hair out of the way. When he pulled back, Harley leant up and pressed her mouth to his; she did nothing else, just rested them there, conveying whatever it was that was residing in her heart. When she pulled back, Tommy was still but she never was. The stillness she had found in her sleep had gone already: there was life in her yet, a vitality that he was almost envious of - a vitality he wished to keep within her, and he would not let anyone steal it away.

They dressed and ate breakfast together, the pair of them sat around the small table in Harley's little kitchen, picking at whatever mismatched food she had managed to collect that didn't require a working fridge. Harley, clad only in her panties and his shirt, read over an information leaflet, her eyes passing over and over the lines as if she were performing a dance routine, and Tommy watched her as he always seemed to do. They said very little, and it was strange that they fit together just as well out of bed than they did in it, for they need not say anything at all.

Harley pulled Tommy into the shower with her, wordless but transparent, and he rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. The hot water ran down his back, the steam enveloping them to block out the cold reality of the outside world, and Tommy kissed her like she was the only language he knew how to speak. They were slow; passionate. Harley wrapped herself around him and he held her up, as always would do. Their kisses were languid, their movements gentle but deep, their moans quiet and lost amongst the steam and white shower tiles.

She was his redemption, he her salvation - and they were willing. Each blast of the bombs that fell from the sky was replaced by each gasp that fell from her lips; her fingertips were no longer stained with the ink of newspapers but the ink of his skin. She was his moon, eclipsing the sun that ate into his flesh and turned sand into fire; she was the white light amongst the dark, shining through the shadow, beating away the clouds to show him the stars. He was her dawn, her survival through the night, rising from the horizon to stand high and proud even in her dullest sky.

Harley wasn't Tommy's everything but she was his something and that was his life's worth better than nothing.

* * *

Normality was a fine thing; a luxury and a privilege. It was ironic, really, that it was Harley (perhaps the most _abnormal_ thing in his life) who brought Tommy normality.

Not long after their shower, Harley had suggested that they go food shopping since they had just consumed most of her supplies. Tommy agreed but also insisted that he sort her fridge out as soon as they got back to the flat, otherwise she would be living off tinned food for a while. He then took her down to the local supermarket and together they strolled through the aisles, side by side, picking out whatever took their fancy. Tommy grabbed the protein while Harley selected the ingredients for meals she was already planning in her head. Not once did they ask any questions about the future or living arrangements or money, they just kept pushing the trolley.

Harley packed and Tommy paid, putting his card into the machine before she could even delve into her bag. She pursed her lips at him but didn't say a word, smiling and rolling her eyes when he helped carry the bags, letting her fingers trail down his arm when he took the last one. When they went back to the apartment, Harley did some on-the-spot organising as she put the food away while Tommy pulled the fridge out and got it working again.

They rewarded themselves with a glass of cold lemonade and an Italian themed lunch at the table, laughing about something that meant very little to an outsider, but more than they could say to themselves. Afterwards they sat down on the sofa with the sun pouring in through the open windows and just lingered in each other's presence, enjoying being normal and being alive.

_Do you know what?_ Harley said. _I think we've just found the reason for it._

_For what?_ Tommy asked.

_For surviving._

As the afternoon stretched by, the sun slipping down out of their reach, they ventured outside again and walked around the old city. They didn't look where they were going and Tommy, who had grown up in those streets, found himself in a whole new world altogether. Harley would tell him something, eager and enthusiastic for him to appreciate the humour in it, leaning into him with one hand on his arm and the other illustrating the memory for him to see, her hair snagging on her cheek as the wind swam around them. Tommy would tease her, an arm around her waist as he buried his nose into her hair, his deep laugh rumbling through her skull and down her spine like a roll of thunder, the flash of his eyes like the lightning she had always been so thrilled to see. Their talk was so normal and harmless that it was deeply private, the words fading into the white space between where one started and the other began, and all anyone would be able to see as the couple walked by would be two people who were still living and were glad for it. They passed through the streets like strangers outside a coffee shop window, separate from the world but so involved in each other, maybe not in love but close to it, their affection and happiness wrapped around them like winter clothing.

Ignoring the table, they ate dinner on the floor that night, sitting in front of the balcony doors that let in the cool air of the descending night, for they were no longer afraid of the dark. They grew brave sat before one another, time settling like old snow at their feet, unnecessary and without purpose. Harley didn't have a television so instead she recounted a childhood favourite movie, knocking over the empty wine bottle with one of her wild gestures and Tommy realised that for the first time in months, he had something to say.

They were the white flag in the middle of battle, the underground bunker where they could hide from the war. When they retreated for the night, they found the peace in each other that they alone had never been able to grasp. They moved together, gasping and pleading and breathing together, rising and rising and falling together. When they collapsed on the bed, entangled and exhausted, they pushed at their cage doors and let their chains drop to the floor.

Tommy did dream that night of sand and bombs and burning but when he woke up, he saw a forest of green instead of the same four walls. As Harley held him against her chest and stroked his forehead, dropping lazy, half-asleep kisses onto his crown while he shook away the remains of his nightmare, Tommy thought that maybe he had got it all wrong: he hadn't survived at all. He had died out there with the rest of his unit – and it had taken Harley to bring him back to life.

* * *

_Today's quote is from Markus Zusak's book '_Getting the Girl_' which is also a relevant title._

_This is probably gonna be the last 'nicey-nice' chapter, because let me tell you, it is not going to be a smooth ride for Harley and Tommy. They're kind of in their honeymoon period right now, thinking that this is how it's gonna be for the rest of time - how naive of them. So if you think this chapter is too perfect then just wait, it will start getting bumpy from here on out._

_Tell me what you think, I love you guys!_


	11. water

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

i want to be like water  
i want to slip through fingers  
but hold up a ship

**– 11 –**

**water**

* * *

His fist hit the mirror and he watched with hot, gritty antipathy as the glass concaved then shattered, shards of his reflection spinning to the bathroom floor. The sound was white noise, echoing the relentless chime of the rain that hadn't stopped in over two days, an endless drum that got into his skull and drowned out all rational thought, leaving behind only whitewashed memories and the taste of sand.

A horrible sound ripped from his chest and there was rain on his cheeks as he collapsed to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor, the biting chill of the tiles giving him some sense of relief from the heat of his nightmare.

"_Please_," he whimpered, hands clawing against the tiles, eyes screwed shut. He was sinking into quicksand and flame, unable to hold his head above the burning waters, and there was blood in his mouth, gore on his lips and he was choking, sobbing, crying out for someone to help him.

Tommy was alone. The house was hollow and cold. No one was home. Not even him, not anymore. He had spent years of his life pushing people away, demanding independence and solitude in his own hell, but now all he wanted was to have arms come around him, to feel a cool hand on his forehead, to hear the soothing whispers of his lover flutter in his ear and seep through his soul. He wanted her to wave her hand and send the nightmares away. He wanted her to be _here. _

But she wasn't. A few days ago, Harley had picked up her mother from the hospital and took her home to her new flat, and they had barely seen each other since. Tommy respected the fact that Harley wanted to settle her mother into the flat with as little interruption as possible, and so he didn't voice his complaints at their lack of meeting up, but that didn't mean he hated it any less. Somehow, the wild-haired, earth-eyed girl who had showed up unannounced in his gym, already walking the path to her own destruction – a path he had long ago forged – had gotten under his skin and wound red thread around his heart lest he forget who it belonged to now; he needed her, needed her more than he had ever thought he could need someone. Her little touches, her breathy gasps, the way she threw her head back in laughter or in pleasure, her reassuring smiles, the strength of her arms when she woke him up from his nightmares and chased them away with a growl and a kiss. She was everything to him – and she wasn't here.

In her absence, the nightmares seemed fresh and sharp, cutting deeper than they had before. They gripped him tight and didn't let go, even when he was awake and sober; they screamed at him, choked him with their scent, hurled sand and blood and chunks of flesh at him. They burned, they burned _him, _they burned everything they touched and there was nothing he could do.

With a scream, a hoarse yell, Tommy smashed his fists down onto the ground and when he opened his eyes, his hands were drenched in blood. At first it was clean and red, but the more he stared, the darker it got until it was black and congealed, his fingers dripping rotting gore from where he had plunged his hands into the corpses of his comrades. It spread to his elbows and everything blurred, his chest constricting as if someone was squeezing him tight, and _god _it hurt, it hurt so much that he wasn't sure he could survive it. There were bodies around him, reaching for him, trying to speak but their mouths were sewn shut, shuffling forward but their legs were missing, only bloodied stumps that leaked thick crimson, staining the white floor red.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He was crying, sobbing, and he couldn't stop. He collapsed forward, letting them come to him, letting them squirm over him until he was buried in their flesh, sand all around, and as ever, the stench of burning. Tommy cried until, exhausted and empty, he drifted into an uneasy sleep that was as dead as everyone he knew.

* * *

Waking up was cold and bitter. In stark contrast to the night before, Tommy was freezing as he lay prone on the cold floor, shivering in his stained t-shirt and boxers. When he pushed himself to his knees, he hissed in a breath between clenched teeth from the sudden pain in his hands; he looked down and saw the crusting blood, small cuts littering his knuckles and palms, and the thin scabs were already breaking, causing thin beads to drip to the floor, ruby and staccato.

The rest of the morning was spent going through the motions. There were no thoughts in Tommy's head as he washed the blood from his hands then wrapped them in bandages; there were no thoughts as he made himself a black coffee with a shot of whiskey; there were no thoughts as he jogged around the block twenty four times; there were no thoughts as he cleaned up the broken glass from the bathroom and let it drop _smash smash smash _into the trashcan. When the silence became too much, when the threat of catching his reflection in a loitering mirror became too much, when the loneliness and the guilt and the smell of burning became _too much_, he started to clean the house. First the kitchen, letting great gulps of bleach splatter against the floor like bile, then the bathrooms, scouring pads scratching out numbers from dog tags in the shower door, then the living room, shards of forgotten whiskey-bottle-glass shimmering the air like fairy dust, faceless photographs tumbling from their place on the shelves. When he found a stain, he got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed, and when the stain was gone, he scrubbed harder. Bleach and polish and antibacterial spray dampened his bandages, drawing out the poison from his cuts with a fierce sting, giving him something else to focus on.

It was long into the night when he finished, but nothing had changed. He was just as dirty as he had been before. He would never get rid of those stains.

Tommy didn't go to sleep that night. Like a coward, he couldn't face his own bed, his own dreams. Instead, he emptied the cupboards, rearranged the cupboards, refilled the cupboards, emptied the cupboards, rearranged the cupboards, refilled the cupboards, emptied the cupboards… until dawn came. It felt impossible, but it came nonetheless.

Then he waited. As the sun peered through the curtains, Tommy sat on the couch and waited. He wasn't sure what it was he waited for, but still he waited. It took three hours, but finally, the phone rang. Tommy grabbed at it like it was a rope thrown to a drowning sailor and pressed it against his ear.

"Hello?" he gasped out and he heard the slight pause on the other end.

"_Honey, you okay?" _Oh, fuck, her voice was so unexpected, providing such a relief that it was painful. Tommy had to close his eyes, lean his head back and take a deep, stabilising breath.

"Yeah, babe, I'm okay."

"_Don't lie to me," _Harley chided him, her voice carefully soft. Tommy sighed and ran his hand over his face, trying to pull himself together. He didn't want Harley to know that he was falling to pieces, because _Christ, _how pathetic was that?

"I aint lyin' to you. You good?" he asked, quick to change the subject. He hated when the focus was on him, hated being made to feel like some nutcase.

"_Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't phone you yesterday, I was so busy with mum and -"_ He didn't know where what he said next came from, didn't even know that he was going to say it, but he said it nevertheless.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I ain't your priority." The silence on the other end was deafening, and Tommy sat up.

"_What's that supposed to mean?" _Harley asked, her voice sharp. Tommy quickly tried to backpedal.

"Nothin', babe, it meant nothin'," he reassured but Harley was having none of it.

"_Well, it obviously meant something or you wouldn't have said it. Are you actually mad at me because I didn't phone yesterday? Are you taking the piss? You know what's going on with my mum, you know that I'm by myself looking after her!"_

"I know, I know!" Tommy said quickly, trying to think of a way to get out of this sudden argument.

"_It's difficult enough trying to look after my mum, I don't have the time to look after you too!" _she snapped harshly, quickly pulling Tommy up short. His temper flared up, and he swallowed back the calming words he was going to say, replacing them with needles that jabbed.

"I don't need a fuckin' babysitter!" Tommy spat, clenching his fists, almost enjoying the way they flared up with pain.

"_Then stop getting pissed at me whenever I don't phone you for a couple hours! Yes, Tommy, you're right, you're _not_ my top priority – so fucking sue me! Anyway, if you wanted to speak to me so bad, try picking up the phone and giving _me_ a call once in a while!"_

"Get off your fuckin' high horse, Harley," Tommy snarled, getting to his feet. "You aint the only one in the world dealin' with shit. If you had to deal with half the shit I have to deal with then maybe you would stop fuckin' complainin' all the God damn time. I get that your mom is sick but least it ain't fuckin' cancer! Least she ain't fuckin' _dead! _Least everyone you fuckin' know ain't fuckin' dead! If you had any fuckin' idea, Harley, you -"

"_Did you have a nightmare?"_ Her words, quiet but knowing, silence Tommy instantly. He froze and stared unseeingly ahead, sudden flashes of body parts and sand making him blind to all else. He heard the silence in his ear and Harley knew_, _she just _knew. _

"_Baby, I – I'm so sorry,"_ she whispered. _"Do you want to come over? Or I can come to you, if you want? We can talk or not, whatever you want."_ Listening to her then, sounding so loving and comforting and warm, when only moments ago she had been so angry… but she knew, he didn't even say anything – or maybe he did, maybe once his words had filtered through her own exhaustion, her own defences, she had heard what he was too proud, too afraid to say outright. He wanted to melt into her, beg for her to come over so that he could hold her and kiss her and replace the old memories of death with new memories of her love; he wanted to see her arch beneath him, feel her mouth on him, taste her, make her scream, make her _his_. He wanted it so badly he couldn't breathe – but, like a railroad spike, his pride surged and he found himself snarling down the phone.

"I don't need your fuckin' help," he spat then hung up, throwing the phone to the side. And just like that, he was alone again.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't be in that house anymore with all the shadows sliding down the walls, demons in the corners, ghosts on each stair. No, he had to leave. Without another thought, Tommy ran to his room, snatched up his gym bag and nearly sprinted from the house. Unable to pause and get in his car, he ran straight to the gym, not slowing until he was outside the door. Forcing himself to adopt a poker face, Tommy sauntered into the building, his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Morning," Colt called from the office and Tommy raised his hand in greeting, not quite trusting himself to speak. He nodded to the couple other guys in the main room, before getting changed and positioning himself by the punch bags. His frustration and fear was like barbed wire in his veins, but he utilised it as he always did, turning into determination and pure force. The bag swung on its chain from the ceiling, the impact of his fists against it echoing violently around the gym, though the others tried to ignore it. He was an animal, a beast, a demon that was searching for the soul it had gambled away.

Hours passed but he never tired. It was only when he heard his name being called did Tommy stop, taking a deep breath before unclenching his fists and turning around to face Colt. He didn't say anything, just waited for the man to talk, and he realised as he waited that they were the last two in the building. Time had gotten stuck in the door for now it was dark outside, when only moments ago it had been morning.

"Tommy, I need to talk to you about Torrent." It took a moment but then Tommy understood what he meant, and his fists clenched again in anticipation. This could be it, this could be the break he was looking for. This would obliterate his bad mood and make him run back to Harley with his tail between his legs but a smile on his face, because a fight with Torrent would open the gates and lead the way back into his fighting career. But then –

"I'm not gonna put you down for the fight, Tommy. I'm sorry, man, but I just don't think you're strong enough yet, what with your shoulder and all. You would be a sitting duck in the ring."

And there it was. The kick in the gut that Tommy had been hoping to avoid, the cherry atop his already fucking brilliant day. He couldn't believe it: he had been working his ass off to try and prove that he was more than capable of knocking that Torrent punk out, but apparently it meant sweet fuck all to Colt.

"My shoulder's fine," Tommy ground out, interrupting whatever the manager was going to say next. Colt stopped and sighed, running his hand over his bald head, visibly uncomfortable. He didn't want to argue with Tommy but there was no way he was going to back down about this. Tommy was strong and dedicated, it was true, but his shoulder wasn't fully healed and anyone with half a brain cell would target it straight away.

"Look, Tommy. As your manager and your friend, I can_not_ let you participate in this fight. Maybe next time, okay?" Perhaps he was being a coward but Colt didn't want to be on the end of Tommy's protests or his fists, so he gave a firm nod and headed back into his office. He shut the door behind him, the click of the lock like a slap in Tommy's face. The silence the manager left in his wake was almost obscene.

It was a battle of pride that kept Tommy rooted to the spot for as long as he was, staring, seething. To leave was to admit defeat but he was no beggar, he wouldn't plead for something he knew he wasn't going to get. So, with painful tension in his shoulders and fists that stung, Tommy turned and left.

When he arrived home, he poured himself a whiskey and sat in the living room in the dark. He threw back his drink and got another. After the third trip to the kitchen, he took the bottle with him. The stars were out but he couldn't see them from where he was sat, but there was another light that caught his eye. It was soft and flashing, merely the glow he could see. Putting down his drink, Tommy leant over the edge of the sofa and picked up his phone. When he flipped it open, he saw the list of missed calls and messages, mostly from his girlfriend. With a sigh, Tommy downed his last drink and contemplated the device in his hand.

One of the first messages was from his brother asking about his birthday dinner. Tommy frowned and scrolled over it, really not in the mood to talk to Brendan in that moment. Or ever. Another was from his Pop who was reminding him that he would be gone for the next few days, away fishing with some friends from his AA meetings. The rest were from Harley: the first were apologies, asking whether he was okay, whether he wanted to see her, but then she stopped asking questions. Instead she reminded him that she was there for him, that he was strong, that he wasn't alone, that it wasn't shameful to ask for help… and finally, the last one merely said, _I love you. _

Tommy switched off his phone.

* * *

_Quote by Michelle Williams._

_I cannot believe how long it's taken me to get this chapter out - and it's not even a particularly long one. I apologise profusely, it's been a very busy couple of months. I wrote out what I wanted to happen in this chapter, a very detailed plan - and I couldn't write anything! The only time I get to write now as it work, and everytime I tried, I either got called away or I just couldn't write anything. So, today I decided to just come at it from a new angle - and I couldn't _stop _writing! It was almost like Tommy just took over me and this is the result. So, the plan I had written for this chapter will have to happen next chapter, so hopefully that one will be out quicker but I can't make any promises! _

_Tell me what you think, please! _


	12. perish

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

some say the world will end in fire  
some say in ice  
from what i've tasted of desire  
i hold with those who favour fire  
but if it had to perish twice  
i think i know enough of hate  
to say that for destruction ice  
is also great  
and would suffice

**– 12 –**

**perish**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING - this scene is rated 'M' for explicit reference to suicide.**

* * *

It was four in the morning and Harley was sat on the floor, watching her mother sleep. Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly, almost lazily, and the moon dusted her cheeks from where it danced through the window. That was the only light in the whole apartment, leaving the rest of it cloaked in darkness; through it Harley could see each minute snowflake of dust that floated over her mother's face, her gentle breath making them sway back and forth in a strangely soothing lull. Everywhere was silent and Harley felt like a child again reading from her story book, waiting for Sleeping Beauty to wake.

But this was no fairytale. There was no prince charming, no wicked witch, no spell to be reversed. There was nothing to be done; the magic lay in Lily's mind now, wrapping around her brain stem like poison ivy, leaving her crippled and faded: she was a broken hour glass slowly losing her sand and no one could find the crack.

Her lucid moments were rare and short-lived. Her screaming fits were getting longer, more frequent. Sometimes when Lily was in one of her fits, shrieking and throwing things across the room, Harley would hide in the closet and lock the door, tuck herself into the corner and cry. It was too much for her to handle, and she often regretted the decision to take her mother home instead of putting her into an institute – and then the guilt would come, the horrible, burning guilt. But she didn't know how to fight this battle: when they had been back home, with her sly, malicious, charming father to act as the antagonist, it was easy to work out the dynamics of the situation – but now there was no bad guy. There was only the phantasmal shade of her mother's memory, locked firmly within the deepest, darkest part of herself, and no one could reach in and cure it. So when Lily was screaming, swearing, blaming and insulting, throwing mirrors against the wall, conjuring up horrible words, Harley found it hard to decipher these new dynamics, because who was the bad guy now? Who did she have to protect herself from – protect her mother from - now? How could she fight against the bad guy when the bad guy was only inside her mother's head?

When Lily was quiet like this, sleeping peacefully in Harley's bed, her daughter often sat at her side and just watched over her. She was a sentinel in the night, small and without any real use, keeping guard while her mother slept. It was nice to revel in the silence, wrap it around her like a velvet cloak, using the moon and the stars as a solitary lantern to guide her through the murky waters.

Harley felt overwhelmingly alone. Sometimes, when she wasn't looking, the loneliness would strike straight through her, as if she had walked through a ghost. She had stopped checking her phone, when it had remained quiet and dark after two weeks. Three times she had tried to leave the flat to go check on her maybe-partner, but she never could quite make it over the threshold, her fear and cowardice making her craven against the possibility of total, final rejection.

When she had spoken to Tommy that night, the pair of them screaming down the phone at each other, it had been like she had sidestepped her body and was watching it from afar. The anger had coiled around her like a garden snake, luring out nasty, furious words that had fallen hard and fast to the floor like a rotten apple plucked and discarded in the same movement. The realisation that Tommy was hurting, shutting himself off from her, using her own inexperience in such matters to push her away, had been shameful, slow. And, quite rightly so, he had hung up on her. She deserved no less, considering her own selfishness.

Thus here she was. Alone and fragile, ready to break at the softest touch. It felt like she was hollow inside, her skin just a thin sheet of ice. She was always stiff, quiet, cold. Sometimes her apartment felt like a bare, abandoned mansion, and that she could lose herself in the endless stretch of floor and wall and _spacespacespace_ that she couldn't escape – and other times it felt like she was stuck in a too-small hole, that she couldn't move or breathe, and the claustrophobia sunk into her breakfast and made her coffee bitter.

She wanted Tommy _so bad_ – so bad that it was a physical ache. She wanted to feel his arms come around her, strong and safe and warm; she missed every part of him: she missed the way he dropped his shoulders and bowed his head, she missed the ink of his tattoos, the scent of his skin, the rough, gruffness of his voice, the way he replied to her romantic words with a grunt, she missed the way he would sling his arm over her shoulder to pull her close, the way he would press his face into the crook of her neck when they were in bed, the way he took care of her without realising. She missed him – _oh God_, she missed him so much.

Suddenly, Harley was crying. She tried in vain to smother her sobs, but they ripped from her in horrible, wracking sounds. Lily shifted and so Harley scrambled to her feet and staggered from the room, vision blurred and wet as she stumbled into the living room. It was horrible, it was _crushing_ to feel so alone – so hopeless. She didn't what to do, where to turn – she was in a strange place, in a strange country, and the only two people in the entire world that she could count on were far beyond her reach. Her mother wasn't her mum anymore, and Tommy refused to speak to her, ignoring her texts and calls.

Perhaps she was being melodramatic, a distant part of her thought, and that maybe she shouldn't feel such despair when her tragedies were small in comparison to Tommy's, to even her mother's, but she just couldn't help it! There was nowhere else for her to turn, and it felt like she was spiralling out of control. Despite her mother's slow, brutal collapse, caring for her was the only thing that Harley had going for her – it gave her a purpose, a reason to be. If something happened – and she knew it would – and her mother died, she would be left, painfully alone.

With a great sigh, Harley threw herself down onto the sofa and put her head in her hands. She really hated crying, hated it with a passion, but it seemed that recently it was all she did. Trying to get her breathing under control, she drew in long, shaky sighs, forcing herself to calm down.

"Pull yourself together!" she snapped at herself, rolling her shoulders, wiping at her cheeks, though her tears just kept on coming. She felt pathetically dismal, like a kicked dog left out in the cold. "This is bullshit," she mumbled, moving to lay face down on the couch, hoping the cushions would smother her enough that she would fall asleep right there and then. "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit," she said into the cushions, and then she laughed, sounding a little resigned. Not wanting to deal with her emotional turmoil anymore, she shut her eyes and drifted off into an uneasy but deep sleep.

* * *

It was three days later when Harley woke suddenly in the middle of the night, jackknifing in the bed with a shout. Sweat was cold on her forehead and her hands trembled, but she couldn't remember the dream: she just knew that it had been horrific. She belatedly realised that there were tears on her face, and there was a dark hole of woe within her. Needing to move, she kicked away the blanket and tumbled off the sofa, barely catching herself before she fell. Her hands reached out to steady her as she moved through the living room, trying to navigate in the pitch black of night.

When she reached the kitchen, she fumbled around for a glass and poured herself some water, downing it in one. It was a strange, unnerving sensation, as if she had just witnessed a horrible death and then forgotten it instantly. It scared her, a cold dread dripping through her, and though she knew she was being silly, she couldn't shake the feeling.

It was then that she heard a sound, a kind of humming. It came from nowhere, but she turned towards her bedroom where her mother was sleeping. Swallowing down her fear, Harley carefully made her way over, holding her breath. The noise got louder as she reached the door, and she recognised the tune as a lullaby Lily used to sing to her when she was a child. Again, it came from nowhere, her mind tugging up the memory from long ago. With another shiver, Harley pushed open the door, letting it swing open. The sight she saw then: she knew it would haunt her till the end of her days.

Lily was lying back on the bed, her hair loose and long down her shoulders. She was still, her lips pulled up in the barest hint of a smile; she was like some serene spirit, barely there. The sheets were scarlet around her, rich like wine, contrasting heavily against the paleness of her skin, frosted by the gentle touch of the moon through the curtains. A shattered glass was at the side of the bed, and the hands that rested by her sides were slashed at the wrists.

Harley gasped, went to scream, choked on it. She went forwards, legs like lead, caught sight of a note that was resting on Lily's stomach, and upon it was written, 'let me go, sweetheart, let me go'.

There was a grace in her death, in the way that she had collapsed back onto the bed like a mermaid submerging herself below the waves. Her blood could have been powdered rubies, the petals of poppies, a cascade of wealth scattered around her in tribute. The beauty and tragedy of the moment flooded through Harley in equal measure, fierce and radiant like there was a nova within her heart. Her feet crunched on glass as she stepped closer, cut into her when she fell to her knees. Lily was cold to touch, the blood sticky and thick. It clotted heavily in the air so that she couldn't breathe, and when her fingers pressed against her mother's neck, the stillness was like the end of a poem, whole and complete.

The next hour passed by without sight or sound. There were men in her house, flashing lights lighting up the window in a vulgar display of ice and fire, fire and ice, and people kept touching her, trying to get her to speak, but there was nothing left to say.

The paramedics went through the motions of saving a life, but the finale was anticlimactic; void. They clicked their heels three times and the white moon watched from the sky, but the wizard was just a man and the yellow brick road had been stained red, and there was no magic to be found. So instead they stole her away in a black bag as if she was trash to be taken out, and slotted her into their ambulance like they were returning the missing queen of hearts into their trick deck of cards.

A man asked her if she wanted to sit in the ambulance with her mother.

If she _wanted_ to sit in the ambulance with her mother. With her _dead_ mother.

What did she want to do? She wanted to reverse time. She wanted to grab the shard of glass her mother had used to kill herself, and cut out the images of her corpse from her mind. She wanted to gouge her eyes out, throw herself from the building, scream and scream and scream until she drowned from the sound of it. She wanted to die. But she didn't think the paramedics _wanted_ to hear that.

They left. The fire dwindled, the ice melted, and Harley was left alone in the cold, dark apartment.

She had one lifeline left, one piece of rope that was still dangling in the waters. Unable to think anymore, even see or breathe, Harley took her phone and dialled Tommy's number. She waited and waited, frozen in place, staring at the front door, unblinking. It rang for a moment, and that moment was endless, before the answer message starting playing in her ear. She heard the beep, but couldn't form the words. Her own voice echoed back at her through the speaker and she heard her gasping breaths, the hitch in her throat, and it sounded like a wounded animal, gagging.

"Please call me back," she finally whispered. When she had hung up, the phone toppled from her hand and she hit the floor hard. Detachedly, she thought that maybe she should cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Her chest constricted, and she slid onto her side, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. She waited and she waited, but nothing came. She was alone; and there was no one left to care.

* * *

_"Please call me back."_

Tommy was a proud man, but fuck, those four words slid right between his ribs like a knife. He had ignored all of Harley's other messages since that first night, but when he had stopped receiving them, his heart had sunk. She had given up on him and he couldn't expect any less from the way he had spoken to her, from the way he was in general. Who would want to be with some fucked up, damaged cunt like him? No one, not even Harley – not even the potential love of his life.

But then he had woken up one morning to a missed call and a voicemail from her at some ungodly time in the night. To see that light flash up on his phone, those handful of letters spelling her name, it had been like staring down at the world from the highest mountain. Why the fuck would she phone him at that time? Nothing good happened at that time, never. So… what?

He was scared. Tommy Conlon was fuckin' _scared_ of listening to a message on his cell, and it was so goddamned pathetic. How the hell did some random chick, with her stupid accent, crazy mane (that always got in his face during the night), and shitty fashion sense claw her way so deep into his defences that he could face guns and bombs and whole fuckin' armies, but couldn't face even the thought of her leaving him? He had been alone and abandoned for his entire life, why the fuck did it make a difference now?

"Grow a pair, Conlon," he growled to himself as he grabbed the phone and stuck it against his ear, waiting to hear the message. He was fully expecting some long-winded, polite, apologetic explanation of why Harley had to _let him go_ and all that other bullshit – but instead he got those four words. Four words and it sounded like her world had just ended.

He had been intending to go to the gym, but instead he got into his car and raced over to her flat, barely stopping for the traffic lights as he did so. When he got there, Harley didn't answer the buzzer or her own front door, so Tommy was glad she had given him a spare key, and he let himself in without hesitation. Closing the door quietly behind him, he peered around the living room, scanning for any sign of his woman but after a moment he heard the shower going and so he went to investigate, dropping his jacket on her sofa. He pushed open the bathroom door and stopped when he saw Harley in the shower, the door open so the water was spraying out everywhere and steam billowed against the ceiling; she was sat on the floor and leaning against the wall, one knee pulled up to her chest, eyes closed.

"Harley?" Tommy called, but she didn't move. Getting worried, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into the shower next to her, not bothered about his clothes. The water hit him and he hissed at the burning heat of it, and so he immediately reached up to turn down the temperature until it was merely warm, but Harley didn't even realise he was there until he had pulled her into his arms.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked her, voice carefully soft. Her skin was raw and red from the heat of the water, and he feared that she slipped and fallen, but then her eyes opened and she stared up at him with such grief that he knew that the water was _burning_ for a reason.

"Baby? Harley, honey, what's wrong?" he asked again, more insistent. Harley sighed, parted her lips, and pulled him down for a heady, heavy kiss. Her tongue was in his mouth, and he knew from the way she clutched at him, the way she kissed him as if hoping for salvation, that something was very, very wrong. Despite the way her touch sent a shard of heat straight to his groin, Tommy gently pushed her away and took her chin between his fingers.

"Tell me what's wrong." His thumb stroked the high plain of her cheek, and he used his other hand to brush back her sodden hair from her face. She went to speak but her voice was but a whisper and the words turned to steam. She was close to breaking, so close - and Tommy panicked, afraid she would shatter beneath his grip if he let her go for even a moment. The white-noise of fear and agony swirled around them; choking, rotting.

When Harley looked up at him, her eyes were the colour of a forgotten sea lost in the memory of the stars; they were the colour the sky would be, if the sky were perfect; they were the colour of an aged forest that had grown and died with the earth it was born from; they were the colour of sadness - and when she told him her secret, they burned like a dying sun.

Harley stared at her hands after she had told him as if she felt the blame lay cupped upon them. The water had been hot so that she could burn like a witch in sacrifice, to purge her flesh and soul of the pain she felt. When Tommy listened hard enough, he could hear her spirit scream out in defiance, in anger, and in the worst of all agonies, and he felt his own screams echo back. He felt as if he were holding a grenade, the pin rattling down the drain, and when the time ran out, she would collapse into the endlessness of herself, where all torment is immortal and only the darkness lives on forever. Gasoline poured from the shower head and it would only take one spark of the fire that was slowly burning its way through her fingers, and everything he had come to love and need would consume itself, devouring all the good things that had ever been, until there was naught left but the scarred bones and ashes of what used to be.

They were even now, Tommy thought. He pulled her over so that she was sat between his legs, her back against his chest, and his arms wrapped tight around her as if she were the sole reason the earth still spun. At his clutching touch, her sobs began, her entire body shivering from the force of them. They were even. Her father was lacking; her mother had slit her wrists in her daughter's bed: Harley had fought her own war. Yes. They were even now.

Tommy wept.

* * *

_Quote is a poem by Robert Frost. _

_This chapter is basically the twin/mirror of the previous chapter, just for Harley instead of for Tommy. I had no intention on writing this chapter the way I did, when I did, or how I did. The plotline I had drafted for this chapter was completely discarded, as it was last time - I wrote this in about 15 minutes without stopping, and here it is. I did want to stop the chapter right after the second section, but thought people wouldn't want a chapter that focused purely on an OC, so kept the last section with Tommy._

_Apologies for the reference/description of suicide, I hope it doesn't trigger anyone._

_Please let me know what you think - I'm so in love with all my reviews and follows and hits, I cannot thank you guys enough!_


	13. deadbolts: part I

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

you have my permission not to love me;

i am a cathedral of deadbolts

and i'd rather burn myself down

than change the locks

– **13 –**

**deadbolts **

**part I**

* * *

******PLEASE NOTE - THIS CHAPTER IS RATED 'M' DUE TO SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE.**

* * *

There was no sympathy to be found in the weather that day. It was bright and sunny outside, birds could be heard chirping through the open window, and a cool breeze lazily strolled through the apartment. The radio in the kitchen was playing an upbeat song and people outside were running and laughing, taking advantage of the last dregs of summer. It could have been a happy day, Tommy thought, if it wasn't for Harley crying in the bathroom.

He was stood outside the door, head pressed up against it as he wondered if fate really was this cruel. This was a path he had walked long ago and yet here he was, watching the woman he was pretty sure he loved follow in his footsteps. The grief and guilt of her mother's suicide was pulling at Harley's eyes, dulling the vibrancy that had attracted him to her in the first place. She looked tired and a strange mixture of ancient and too young, face pale and gaunt. It made something sharp twist in Tommy's gut and he spent his nights holding onto her, cursing their terrible, terrible luck.

It had been a week, and she hadn't stopped crying. She tried to hide it as much as she could, pressing her face into pillows, darting into the shower, walking out of the room, and Tommy tried to tell her that he didn't give a shit about her seeing her cry, that if she wanted to cry then she should cry. He would cup her chin and look deep into those dulled eyes of hers and tell her _trust me, baby, I know. I know._

And he did, he knew what she was going through too well. Memories were thrown up into his line of sight like a handful of sand and no matter how hard he tried to dislodge them, there were always those that got stuck in the crooks of his mind and replayed again and again for him to see. Memories of his Ma, grey and skeletal, mouth downturned into a crude slash of dead flesh, hands curled into claws that she couldn't unfurl, bald head covered in a stained, sour scarf that had slipped down over one unseeing eye. Unlike the nightmares of his unit, the memories of his Ma were static and flat, like an old television tuned into an empty channel. Somehow, that was a little bit worse.

Without Harley ever really asking, Tommy found himself staying over at the flat. She was skittish inside it now, avoiding rooms, staring at certain points and seeing things he couldn't. After the second night of Harley refusing to sleep on the bed, Tommy spent the following morning meticulously cleaning the bed frame and had then gone and purchased a new mattress for them to use. He dropped the old one off at his house and put it up against the wall of his bedroom, bloodied-side facing in. When he showed Harley, she hugged him tight and pressed her face into his neck, and that was the best thank you he had ever received.

The days were hard but they got better like a trickle of water creeping through a crack in the rocks. Harley slept more and more each night and Tommy found it easier to compartmentalise the memories of his past and lock them away. When Harley found her voice after the first week, she apologised a lot: for sleeping so much, for not sleeping enough, for being so miserable, for not helping him out around the house, for everything – but Tommy knew that she was only actually apologising for one thing and one thing only. At first he told her to stop but there quickly comes a time when words lose their meaning the more you say them, so he swapped words for kisses and soft grunts that made her smile.

Tommy knew that she was apologising for letting her mother die. To many, it sounded like a silly thing to be sorry for because what more could she have possibly done? But it's always the same: the guilt. The feeling that you've let them down somehow, that you didn't do your job properly. Tommy had felt like that when his Ma died of cancer because it had been his responsibility to look after her and he failed, so he knew that Harley was feeling the same thing. Lily's illness had been of the mind and not the body, but the end result was the same. Their hearts had stopped beating and that was what it all came down to. There was little Tommy could do to take that guilt away except understand it, and that he could do with no effort at all.

One afternoon, with the sun sitting heavy in the sky, the shrill ring of the phone shot through the silence, startling Harley from where she was dozing against Tommy on the sofa. Her hand crept out to grab it and she pressed up to her ear with a nervous expression. When the person on the other end began asking clinical questions about the circumstances of her mother's death, Tommy pulled Harley onto his lap and held her tight as she choked out answers to the questions that were delivered with the tact of a school exam. Afterwards, when she had to sort through all the administrative work for the funeral arrangements, Tommy talked her through what she needed to do – _what was he, some fuckin' funeral guru?_ – and together they managed to finalise everything with as little hassle as possible.

In one night, Harley lost everything. It had taken God a week to create the world and under Tommy's watch, it took Harley a week to find hers again. _We have the control,_ she said one evening, tracing lines in the condensation of the bathroom mirror, twists of steam hanging low in the air from the shower they had just shared. Long and sodden was Harley's hair as it clung to her bare back, dark like bitter chocolate against the cream of her skin, damp and sweet. Tommy felt something hot and sharp clench deep down inside of him and when she looked back at him through the mirror, he saw her pupils dilate.

It was difficult to see through the steam but when Harley turned to face him, he saw with pristine clarity a small drop of water slip down one breast and over her nipple, then all the way down her stomach to her thigh. It was a diamond on her skin, capturing the light in such a way that it shone bright despite the dimness of the room, and Tommy sunk onto his knees to lick it away.

A small sigh left Harley's lips and she let her head fall back as Tommy gently moved his mouth up and up, his calloused hands wrapping around the back of her thighs to keep her steady. Her hand knotted in his hair as he ran his tongue across her, barely touching, just enough. She shivered and he gripped her tighter, going deeper, tasting and tracing patterns against her that made her gasp like a chick-lit heroine and arch against him. He lifted her thigh to rest on his shoulder and her back was against the mirror, the cold in shocking contrast to the burning heat of Tommy's tongue. The steam was suddenly thick in the room so that when she panted in breaths it was like breathing in smoke that fanned the embers inside her, and when she came it was like a wave of sweet-hot flame rushing up to her centre and then sweeping out in the same second.

Tommy held her as her shudders softened and then he stood to kiss her with a force that pinned her against the mirror, the taste of her on his lips, but Harley pushed back just as hard and she ruthlessly dragged her nails down his back, making him hiss into her mouth. She was feline and he was feral, the pair of them like a storm contained with a sheet of glass, thunder and lightning in a never-ending midnight. Wanting her, wanting all of her, Tommy dipped his fingers between her thighs and then with all the control of someone born into training, licked the taste of her off each one, devilishly slow. Harley watched him with half-lidded eyes, knowing she should give but preferring in that moment to only take. She was consumed with grief and guilt and greed and gluttony, but Tommy was more than willing to forgive her for her sins; she was his prayer and they had found God in the absence of their virtue. They were creation and destruction, and there was something very beautiful about being both.

They did nothing more than that, not really. Tommy didn't push her to the floor or throw her on the bed and he didn't particularly want to. He didn't feel her mouth or her hand, didn't take her against the wall, but he watched her come apart in his hands and he got to see the sun rise within her, a blistering heat that melted the memories of death like winter frost because she was life, pure _life_, and she had his rebirth held in the palm of her hand.

The next morning, the eighth day, Harley threw open the apartment windows and let the cool breeze in. Clad in some black underwear and Tommy's shirt, she made them breakfast and coffee, humming a song to herself. Tommy could feel the very language of her flesh and bone as she brushed past him. Syllables collected in the small hollow of her back, caught like dew on the gentle curve of her shoulder. He would find her whispers left behind in rooms like red lipstick on a champagne flute and he gathered them in his hands to read them like a sheet of music. She was a sunrise in the very darkest part of himself, a choir hymn that could sweeten hell. Her alphabet was imprinted in the cursive of her spine and it was a stolen letter, telling tales that went beyond myth or memory. Yes, she was a language and Tommy was her ink, and he would write her across the plains of every country and land, would let her sink into the earth, would give her shape just so that the generations to come could read her.

Oh, Harley was everything he could ever say, and words hung from her. He would trace them with the tips of his calloused fingers on the cocaine lines of her collarbones and hear them sigh; he would taste them with his tongue on her outstretched thighs and hear them scream. They spoke of all the things he could never say and he would thread her words into a rope and string himself up in the docks of her silence, for each time she spoke Tommy was inverted, subverted, converted into the linguistics of her requiem – and he knew, as she placed his breakfast on the table, that she was right about heaven because it was there in her voice. So maybe she was the language of the angels, the warriors of God; the language of salvation, of both peace and war on earth; a language that spanned a thousand lifetimes but could be felt in the heat of one second; and Tommy couldn't make up his mind what she was except that she was a language, his language, and if he never spoke another word again he would find a million more in the lines of palms.

_What are you?_ She sat down beside him and threw him a smile the way light would refract off a diamond ring. He complimented her breakfast even though it wasn't nearly half as good as his, but it was the fact that she'd had the inclination to get up and make it that mattered. She didn't say anything but just purposefully bumped him with her shoulder as she whisked away his plates.

While she was washing them up, Brendan called. Resigning himself to a conversation with his brother, Tommy answered it and listened as Brendan reminded him in that kind of hopeful way he had that his birthday was right around the corner and he still wanted Tommy to come.

"You gonna bring anyone?" Brendan asked. Tommy looked at Harley who was elbow-deep in bubbles, the pale sunlight making her hair a warm gold. _It was still too soon,_ he thought.

"No," he replied. The conversation over, he threw his phone onto the kitchen table and turned his mind to better things. When Harley asked him who it was, he said no one.

The rest of the day was spent tidying the apartment. Lily hadn't had a lot of belongings, most of them still back in London, but whatever she had left behind Harley packed away in a box and slid it to the back of the cupboard. The only things she kept out were two photographs and a necklace with a small moon pendant that she didn't wear. She was very quiet that day but seemed a little more relaxed than she had been and when she sat at his feet that evening in front of the sofa, Tommy massaged the stress away, his strong hands almost sending her to sleep.

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth when they took themselves to bed. She was curled up against him and her hands pressed against his chest but it wasn't lust she sought but rather the reassurance that she wasn't alone. _You'll never be alone again,_ Tommy promised her in his mind, and she kissed him as if she'd heard him.

On the ninth day, Tommy decided Harley would be okay by herself for a few hours and so took the opportunity to go back to his house and get some more of his own things; he hadn't officially moved in but he rarely left so it was safe to assume he would need some more clothes and a clean gym kit. When he assured Harley that he wouldn't be long, she assured him back that she would be just fine without him for a bit, making him grunt a little as she let out a laugh that was fresh like a rush of citrus.

"Where you been?" was the first thing he heard as he walked through the front door of his house. He winced a little internally but kept up his stoic expression – he had pretty much forgotten about the outside world for the last week or so, had only thought enough about it to send his Pop a hurried text to say that he wouldn't be home for a while. Taking his time to reply, Tommy threw his jacket over the kitchen table and started making himself a coffee, well aware of the eyes boring into the back of his skull. He distantly thought that the house didn't smell of bleach or coffee. It didn't really smell of anything anymore.

"At Harley's," he finally said. He hoped that would be the end of the conversation because his temper was permanently frayed when it came to his father – it was a learned reflex, y'know how it is.

"Why you spendin' so much time at that girl's place?" Tommy felt the tension in his shoulders increase, settling like a weight between the blades, and he took a deliberate sip of his coffee, not quite feeling it when it burned the roof his mouth.

"She's my girlfriend, Pop." His words were strangely, overly enunciated and Paddy frowned at the tone, though Tommy didn't turn round to see it.

"You've never been this attached to some girl before."

"She ain't just some girl, she's…" She's Harley. She's his.

"Well, that's great, Tommy. I'm glad you've got someone… but you're spendin' an awful lotta time with her. You haven't been home in over a week," Paddy pressed. Tommy shifted his shoulders, put down the coffee. He felt a snarl pull at his lips but then forced it away. This didn't need to be an argument.

"Her mom died, Pop." He tried not to spit it out and half-succeeded. He heard the little inhale of breath – not quite a gasp, but the sound of words falling away – and finally pivoted to look his father in his eyes which had become a screen of memory that buzzed past in the space of a heartbeat. _Yes_, Tommy thought, _exactly_.

"Oh." The word was flat and it dropped like a stone to the floor. "Well, it's good of you to help her out, Tommy, but…"

"But?" Tommy couldn't help himself, he really couldn't.

"You haven't been t'gether very long, and I don't want you to feel like - feel like you have to - y'know - help. I know what you did for your mother and I know that you… you shouldn't have to be someone else's carer, Tommy."

"You don't know what you're talkin' about," Tommy ground out, eyes narrowed. Paddy sighed, fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He looked very sober.

"I know you, Tommy… I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"She's my girlfriend, Pop, an' her mom just killed herself, of course I'm gonna spend time with her. I ain't being a carer, I'm supportin' the woman I love."

"The woman you lo-" Paddy choked back the words and he looked as if Tommy had just slapped him around the face. At first Tommy wondered why that was such a shock but then realised just how long it had been since he'd actually had a proper conversation with his Pop – not that this really constituted a conversation, he thought. Just another fight.

"Tommy… you sure you're not confusin' love with empathy?" He flinched back then at the look in Tommy's eye and Paddy wondered whether his son would throw his cup of coffee at him the way he threw the cup of coins at him back in the casino. He wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"What the fuck would _you_ know about love?" Tommy snarled, dropping his cup into the basin with such force that it cracked, coffee splashing up the counter with a trail of steam. "What right do you have to talk to me about _love_?" Paddy put his hands up in a sign of peace and tried to calm him down, really regretting having said something.

"Look, son, I'm just concerned about you. I don't want this girl takin' advantage of you – okay, okay, she wouldn't do that, okay," he quickly backtracked when Tommy lurched forward. "Just be careful, Tommy, alright? Spendin' so much time with someone you barely know… it's unhealthy – for both of you. She'll come to depend on you too much, and you could end up feelin' like you can't leave even if you wanted to."

Tommy stared at him for a long moment before striding past him, not entirely sure how he felt. For a split-second he thought he was angry enough to storm out of the house but that would be counter-productive, so he went instead to his old bedroom. The mattress was still propped up against his wall and Paddy hadn't mentioned that so he probably hadn't gone into the room. Tommy studied it for a long while, knew it was stained with blood on the other side. How strange, he thought, that that was what life could be reduced down to.

He thought about Harley alone back at the apartment, thought about when he had found her in the shower, half-alive. They had both lost so much. Where would they go from here? Where could they go? He didn't know how to function without her anymore (barely knew how to function at all) and she clung to him like he was the thread that held her together. Oh, they were so broken. Would they make each other whole or just destroy all that was left? Tommy honestly didn't know, didn't entirely care. He would take either, just to have her.

Paddy had said it was unhealthy. Tommy hadn't answered because maybe it was.

* * *

There she stood, a lone figure beneath a great oak, high heels sinking into the damp mud, and cheap mascara lining eyes that were as green as leafless trees and grassless fields. She was alone but for the man at her back and the grave at her feet. Her mother was under all that dirt. It hadn't taken long to put her down there. Not very long at all. Her hair was in a tight bun and her black dress was very respectable. Her hands shook a little and she wasn't sure what she was looking at. Suddenly everything seemed very pointless. She wondered whether he had felt the same when he had stood in front of his own mound of dirt, and she felt him very close behind her.

There she stood, a lone figure beneath a great oak, alone apart for the man at her back and the grave at her feet, and she wondered what else she was burying there that day.

The sky wept but her eyes were very, very dry.

* * *

_This chapter's quote is by Rachel McKibbens from "Letter From My Brain To My Heart"._

_Chapter 13 has been split into three parts, all of which are written but the second two are currently going through the editing process. Both should be up before the end of the week. The reason why I've split the chapter up is because it was so freaking long, but I feel that it still constitutes one chapter rather than three seperate ones. Chapter 13 is going to be very 'up and down' because that's very much the emotion that our lovely pair are going through. _

_I've been getting such fantastic reviews and I just want to hug you all so much! To my most recent guest reviewer who said about Tommy calling Harley 'baby' - oh my god, you made me go through an internal crisis because I really really get where you're coming from! I know that the term 'baby' has a billion and one connotations depending on who you view it. I spent a good few hours annoying my friend by asking her what she thought Tommy should use instead of baby but we couldn't decide on anything so I've kept baby, purely for consistency. Y'see, in my head I see it being a kinda rough nickname in the way that he says it, because Tommy doesn't say or do anything sweetly, y'know, a bit macho. Any other nickname in my head was way too 'Tommy Hardy' and not 'Tommy Conlon' so I discarded them. So if you have a better idea, I'm totally open to any! :) thanks for the review too._

_Let me know what you think! Also, this is the smallest part. The others are about twice the size. _


	14. deadbolts: part II

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

you have my permission not to love me;

i am a cathedral of deadbolts

and i'd rather burn myself down

than change the locks

– **13 –**

**deadbolts**

**part II**

* * *

Harley selected a glass, put it back, and picked out a bigger one. Unblinking, she lifted the cold bottle and cracked off the lid, pouring the clear liquid into the glass with such grace that it slopped up the side and onto her hand. Tutting to herself, she licked away the spillage and then took a deep gulp. _Yuck_. Vodka wasn't a pretty drink and it burned on the way down, but fuck it, she thought, it was better that nothing.

"Everyone's allowed a drink," she said to herself as she tossed it back.

It wasn't often that she drank the hard stuff but Harley admittedly did have a soft spot for that silly, tipsy feeling that made annoying things like emotions and responsibilities fade out into the background. She had been stone cold sober for too damn long and tonight, just tonight, that was gonna change. Even if just for a little while, she wanted to not feel like there was a huge gaping whole right in the place where her heart should be. Guilt was all around like snow at fucking Christmas and she was sick of it. Guilt for letting her mum die, guilt for feeling relieved that her mum was gone, guilt for making Tommy have to look after her, guilt for not telling him the truth, and guilt for feeling guilt. It was exhausting, so fuck it. She wanted a night off. Her mum would still be dead in the morning.

Fuck. Bad thought.

She threw the last of the drink back and poured herself another one. Two wasn't too bad. Surely everyone drank straight vodka like it was nasty water. No big deal.

Then it was three. Four.

Jesus, the apartment was quiet. Tommy was out at his place or at the gym or wherever the hell he was, and Harley wasn't sure she liked being on her own. She loved Tommy, she was pretty sure she did, and she loved having him around but he was _always_ there now. Looking after her. Caring for her. Being so damn fucking nice that it made her feel like a big pile of shit for being such a crappy girlfriend, and _why the hell did she have to feel so bad all the time? _

It wasn't her fault her mum died, was it? Well. That was debatable. She should have looked after her better. Gotten her better help. Talked to her more. Bought a place sooner. Not left her on her own. Ugh. Harley screw her face up and stormed out of the kitchen, irritated. She was meant to be feeling better not fucking worse.

Thing was, if she hadn't left home when she was younger, she might have been able to stop her mum from going off the fucking rails. Should never have left her alone with her dad, that's for sure. But she had been selfish and ran away like a spoilt brat thinking only about herself.

Well, why not? Her mum hadn't wanted to leave. Always made excuses for the sorry cunt, blamed her for his shit, shouted at her when he acted like a drunken twat. How was that her fault? She had probably saved her own life by leaving. It was good thing she left.

But was it though? If she hadn't left -

"For fuck sake!" Harley screamed, throwing her glass hard across the room. She jumped at the sound it made hitting the wall and scurried back away from the flying shards that exploded from it on impact. "Great," she moaned to herself, sighing. Her plan hadn't exactly worked out like she hoped. Huffing, she sat down hard onto the sofa and let her head fall into her hands. She was a state; what a mess. She had come to Pittsburgh ready to start a new life, but she had only managed to drag the carcass of her old one along with her and now it was starting to rot.

It wasn't fair on Tommy, she knew that. He had so much of his own shit to deal with, he shouldn't have to deal with hers as well. Despite everything he had been through, he had willingly put it aside for her without a single word of complaint. Would she have done the same? Probably not. God.

What. A. Mess.

Knowing Tommy would only worry if he came home to broken glass everywhere - least there was no blood this time - Harley got her to feet with a sigh and went in search of the dustpan and brush. The vodka was starting to clot in her mind now but she ignored it, knowing there was no point in fooling herself. Drunk or not, she was still the same. Everything was still the same.

Well, no, it wasn't. Everything had changed. Harley had come to the States, to the 'Burgh to get her mum some cheap healthcare by taking advantage of old friendships. Her entire purpose in life was to get her mum better, and her short-term goals had looked something like: find a place to live, find some money, find some care, find some miracle to save her mother's lost sanity. She had managed to get twenty-five percent of her goals completed. Well fucking done.

Now it was all gone. Essentially, she had lost all permanent ties. There was no reason for her to stay in the 'Burgh or even in America anymore. She could go home, see her friends again, go back to her dance career, shake off her old life and commit to being the girl she had dreamed of when she was younger.

But then there was Tommy. Harley couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Without her even realising, he had rooted himself deep down into the most obscure parts of herself and she didn't want to have to cut him out. She cared for him too much, loved him too much, depended on him too much - and, in the words of dear ol' Hamlet himself, there's the rub. Was it fair on her to settle into a life she didn't particularly want just because of one person? Was it fair on him? Most of the time Harley felt like he was her saviour, her light in the dark times - but there was these very small but scarily real moments when she felt that maybe they were only making themselves worse. Maybe if her mum hadn't killed herself and had gotten better instead they would have worked because then both of them wouldn't be these broken puppets but now that's exactly what they were. Defeated, broken, used, and didn't misery breed misery?

_Please let that not be true_, she thought with a touch of despair. How she could even bear to have that conversation with herself, she had no idea. She couldn't leave Tommy, she just couldn't.

… But should she?

The phone rang and Harley spat out a curse in shock. Fucking phone. She was starting to think she needed to disconnect the fucking thing. Flouncing over to it, Harley answered it half-heartedly, thinking it was going to be some stranger phoning about her mother.

Well, she was half right.

"_Why the fuck didn't you tell me my fucking wife was dead?" _

Oh, well. Speak of the devil.

"Because why the fuck should I?" Harley found herself snarling back at her father and a distant part of her thought that maybe she should drink more vodka if it made her this feisty. Though, being on the other side of the world to the man probably helped.

"_Don't you dare speak to me like that! I have the right to know my wife has committed suicide!"_ It was almost funny how exactly the same he sounded, even down the phone.

"You have the _right_?" Harley repeated, incredulous. How on earth had she ended up having this conversation? She hadn't spoken to the man in years. "You lost that _right_ a long time ago!" Was she slurring? She was slurring.

"_I thought you were meant to be looking after her!"_ her father howled, and Harley was confused whether he was genuinely upset or not. She had never been able to tell. Psychotic creep. The man had more charm than you could shake a stick at and apparently that meant he could get away with anything as long as he smiled nice enough for the cameras, drunk or not. It was a lesson Harley had learnt at a young age and utilised frequently in her own life.

"I'm not having this conversation," she said, hearing herself as if from a distance. "Goodbye."

"_Don't you fucking hang up on me!"_ he hissed but she didn't listen, never had done, and she dropped the phone like it was a snake. When she sat down on the sofa, she realised she was shaking.

Well then.

Well.

Her jaw was clenched and her eyes stared out across the room. Huh. She hadn't cleaned up the glass. She should do that. Nodding, Harley got to her feet, stumbled but caught herself in time.

She had just spoken to her dad.

Nope. She was not going to acknowledge that. No. Nononononono. No.

So.

Pushing it all out of her mind, Harley found the dustpan and brush and swept up the glass shards very systematically, though she had to blink a lot to focus on what she was doing. When she was satisfied she had caught all the glass and that Tommy would never know about her little outburst - or anything else - she went into the kitchen to throw it away. As she opened the bin, she heard the front door open.

"Harls?"

"Fuck!" she cursed, nearly dropping the dustpan in her hand. Swallowing thickly, she let the glass fall into the bin and then dusted her hands off, plastering a smile onto her face just as Tommy appeared into the doorway. His eyes flickered down to the dustpan and narrowed a little in that military way they did, but he didn't say anything and she was beyond relieved he didn't.

"You alright, baby?" he asked slowly and she nodded, trying to make her smile as realistic as possible. Why did she feel so on edge? Oh right, the booze. The thought made her cringe and then as if he had heard it too, Tommy stiffened and looked at the bottle of vodka she had left sat on the counter like a fool.

"You been drinkin'?" Oh shit, he didn't sound happy. Swallowing again, a nervous habit she had, Harley nodded. Tommy studied her for a moment and she squirmed under his scrutiny, wondering why she felt like a child being caught stealing the cookies.

"What you doin', Harley?" he asked her then, sounding a little resigned. Harley sniffed and shrugged, feeling so very young underneath the age of his stare. It wasn't often that she was made aware of their age gap, relatively small though it was, but sometimes she saw whole lifetimes in his eyes that she knew she could never understand. Tommy had aged beyond his years because of all the shit he had seen, and she suddenly felt bad for thinking she could ever match up to that.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down at her feet, hands clasped before her like she was a schoolgirl again. She heard Tommy sigh and when she glanced up from beneath her eyelashes, he was running a hand down his face.

"You can drink if you want to," he said as if it pained him to say so. "Hell knows I do." Harley bit her lip, feeling very awkward and out of place.

"Sorry," she said again, not really knowing why. Her head was starting to fuzz. Tommy sighed, shook his head and stepped forward to pull her into a hug. She relaxed against his chest and shut her eyes, glad he didn't seem to be angry anymore as her rested his chin on the top of her head. _He's just the right size,_ she thought with a smile.

"Don't be, you don't have t'explain yourself to me," he murmured, his voice rumbling in her ear through his chest. It made her giggle and Tommy smiled, cupping the back of head for a moment before pulling away. He glanced back at the vodka then the dustpan she had hastily shoved behind the bin and frowned. When Harley turned to get him some water, he subtly put the bottle of alcohol back into the cupboard and wondered when she had bought it without him noticing. Not that she couldn't buy herself vodka if she wanted to but he just didn't want her to start relying on alcohol to make herself feel better. Hell knows that never turned out well.

"Come on," he coaxed, holding out his hand for Harley to take. "Let's go have a shower then get some sleep."

"Yeah, a kip sounds good," Harley agreed, letting him guide her down to the bathroom. The shower was innocent as anything as Tommy washed her hair and patted her down dry, laughing a little at her tipsy clumsiness as she tripped on the corner of the bed, blushing when she caught herself. He pulled back the covers and climbed in, gesturing for her to do the same, and soon they were drifting off to sleep.

Tommy dreamt of dead bodies and a burning smell, while Harley dreamt of broken glass and charming smiles. They both woke up in the night but at different times and neither of them said a word about it come next morning.

* * *

Now, Tommy was no fool. He had been trained to save lives in the most brutal way there was and had lost too many. He knew when someone's eyes weren't shining in the right way, or when their fists were too tightly clenched. He knew when a smile was too forced to be natural and when a pause went on for too long.

So he knew that Harley was not okay. The realisation of that had been a subconscious thing, coming to him in a way so subtle that it made him uneasy because he knew that the woman was too good. If she didn't want anyone to know that she wasn't skipping down the yellow brick road of recovery, then no one would know – but he did.

Thing was, grief took time and it took it out on people in a variety of unpredictable ways. Hell, his grief had led him to join the Marines, so he didn't know at first whether she was actually okay and he was just being overprotective, but once he saw the signs, he couldn't unsee them. They were all there, hidden beneath makeup and laughter and shrugs.

Tommy thought that the reason Harley was getting stuck in the process of her grief was that she had nothing to occupy her time anymore. When you're caring for someone, it takes up your entire life so when they're gone, you don't know what to do with yourself - which was why Tommy did what he did when his Ma died. All Harley did now was live in her flat, and that was it. She didn't have a job, didn't have any hobbies, didn't really know anyone else except him and Colt. Each time he left for the gym or the house or wherever, he worried about her being all alone in the crime scene of her mother's suicide. He knew how dark your thoughts could get when there was no one there to drown them out, and he hated the idea that Harley was putting herself through that without feeling like she could talk to him.

Though he wasn't exactly an open book to her either, so he didn't really have a leg to stand on. They were just as bad as each other. Still, he wanted to cheer her up, expand her radius a little more. So, when Brendan left him a text confirming that Tommy was still attending his birthday bash, an idea flashed up in his mind.

"Hey, Harley," he said, drawing her attention away from a magazine. "Wanna meet my brother?"

From the way her eyebrows shot up, Tommy feared he had been a bit too forward but then a huge grin split across her face and she was lunging forward to hug him tight.

"Of course I do, silly!" she exclaimed, seeming more excited than Tommy thought she should be. His family really weren't that interesting.

"Ya do?" he checked, his disbelief clear in his voice and Harley chuckled, sitting down in the seat next to him.

"Well, yeah! I'm just... I'm just surprised you asked me, 'cause I know you're really touchy - er, I mean... _private_ about your family." At her sheepish look, Tommy laughed and shook his head, ruffling Harley's dark hair which predictably made her duck away. It was a light-hearted moment and Tommy felt a little more at ease thanks to the spark that had returned to Harley's gaze. If only it could have lasted longer than it did.

Unfortunately, it seemed that her initial glee at being invited to meet Tommy's brother slowly sunk beneath whatever heavy thoughts she entertained in the run up to the meal. That short flash of light he had seen was quickly blocked out by the clouds of her lingering grief, and her smiles began to disappear in favour for grimaces and tears.

"Baby," Tommy pleaded as she lay curled up on their bed, sobbing her heart out in a way that she hadn't done since he had found her that night. "Harley, please, tell me what's wrong." His rough fingers caught her chin and brushed her hair out the way as he attempted to catch her gaze but she just closed her eyes and hid her face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she moaned over and over, and Tommy had to squash down his irritation at how unhelpful she was being.

"What you apologisin' for?" he asked softly and the familiarity of this situation had him at gun point.

"I don't know!" she almost screamed in his face, nails tearing at her eyes. Tommy sighed, wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her upwards, easily manipulating her into a seating position. When he let go, she seemed confused about how she had come to be sat in his lap.

"Would you stop," he murmured, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear, "sayin' sorry all the damn time?" She sniffed, looking - and feeling - suitably pathetic. There was a weight in her chest and it was a sewage point of regurgitated emotions that only got more and more primitive each time they came back up. She didn't know what was going on in her head. Her mother's suicide had conjured up a plume of questions like dust motes when she had fallen into the pit of her surrender, and Harley didn't have an answer to any of them.

Her father kept calling her, so she had disconnected the phone. They never used it anyway so Tommy hadn't noticed and she didn't feel inclined to tell him. How the man had even managed to find out her home number, she had no idea but hadn't thought to ask him. She was very cold now and always on edge. Grumpy and paranoid and so deeply sad. Everywhere she looked in that stupid apartment she was reminded of her mother, and even though she tried her hardest to fill the empty spaces with the scent and size of Tommy instead, it didn't work. He left to go to work and get food and see his father, and each time the door shut behind him, Harley wished that she could just pack up her things and leave.

And didn't that make her a horrible person?

"I'm sorry," she whispered so pathetically and Tommy shook his head, wanting to know what was wrong but not wanting to ask the question because it had been less than three weeks since Lily had died and that wasn't enough time to do anything. So, he tried something different.

"I forgive you," he whispered back and - _oh_, there it was.

Her eyes were so green; they lit up like a forest set alight. Tommy didn't know whether that was beautiful or tragic. He supposed it was both.

In the few days it took for Brendan's birthday to roll around the corner, not much changed between Tommy and Harley. They both thought things about the other that they couldn't form into words. For two people who loved each other very much, more than they were willing to admit, they kept a lot of secrets and the guilt, frustration, unease of doing so began to cripple them. It became a disease, silently creeping through the veins of their relationship, an emotional necrosis that neither seemed inclined to cure.

Still, it was Brendan's birthday and they had places to be. Harley was nervous but pretending that it was just because she was excited and Tommy let her pretend because it was easier for him to just go along with her play for the time being until he learnt enough about the script that he could start rewriting it for himself.

The car journey was suitably awkward. They were still Harley and Tommy, in love and happy and helping one another through the tough times they had experienced but _fuck_. Barely an honest word was shared. It felt like a marriage where they each suspected the other was cheating but whether it mattered or not depended on who the affair was with. The most they said to each other was when Tommy had pulled up to his brother's house and they were getting out the car.

"You _have_ told them I'm coming, right?" Harley checked as they walked up the path and Tommy paused, cursing.

"Fuck. No."

"_Tommy!"_ Harley whined, suddenly looking about ten years younger (sometimes Tommy wondered whether she was lying about her age but he wasn't sure in what direction. She looked both too old and too young at too many times).

"It's fine, they won't care."

"What if they do? They probably haven't made enough food for another person, or set a place at the table or-"

"For fuck sake Harley, it'll be fine, stop worryin'." The woman huffed as he knocked on the door and Tommy's lips quirked into a little smile that she caught in the reflection of the glass panelling and suddenly they were smirking at each other as if speaking in a silent code that no one else knew but them. Tommy snagged her hand for a moment and squeezed it tight.

"It'll be fine," he repeated, quieter this time, and he could hear footsteps approaching. "You'll be fine."

"So will you," she assured back just as the door opened, revealing his older brother. Brendan looked slightly less haggard than the last time they'd met, Tommy noticed, supposed it was because of all the money he'd won from Sparta. Bastard.

"Hey, Tommy! Oh, er-" Brendan glanced at Harley who was blushing and gripping a bottle of wine in her hand like she was about to use it to bludgeon herself to death, and then back to Tommy. "Er, who... who's this?"

"Harley. She's my plus one."

"You didn't mention anything about a plus one," Brendan replied back sharply though it was obvious he still attempting to be polite.

"I'm mentionin' her now." Harley's gaze jumped back and forth between the two and she felt inclined to say that she could leave but fuck knows where they were right now, they had been in the car for ages, so all she could do was stand there and hope this terse introduction wouldn't deteriorate down into yet another brawl. Though if it did, she would bet all her money on Tommy - she doubted Brendan could beat him twice in a row.

"Well... okay then. Sorry, excuse my bad manners!" Brendan exclaimed as he turned back to Harley, a smile now firmly plastered in place. "Please, come in. Tommy just took me by surprise, that's all." Harley smiled back and made a kind of amused sound that made Tommy raise an eyebrow at her and then they were being ushered into the house.

It was big and homely and obviously filled with a happy family. Photographs were on the walls boasting two parents and two girls smiling with glee; toys were dotted around the place, car keys and tiny coats and pink shoes and the whole place was just oozing with happiness.

It made Harley sick, and when she shared a long look with Tommy, she saw the feeling reflected in his gaze. It wasn't that she hated other people being happy, that wasn't it at all, but suddenly she felt very, very small.

"Please come through to the kitchen," Brendan said like a good host and Harley saw a woman in front of the counter, serving up a delicious looking meal onto large square plates. She was introduced as Tess, Brendan's wife, and she looked the two guests up and down like she was trying to pick out a good cocktail dress.

"Here," Harley said stiffly, holding out the bottle in her hand. "A little gift. I'm sorry Tommy didn't tell you I was coming, I hope I haven't put you out too much." Look at her, being all civilised. Considering the last time she'd had a decent conversation with someone was some weeks ago, she thought she was doing pretty good, ignoring of course the siren that was wailing in her head about how goddamn out of place she felt. At least Tommy looked about as comfortable as she did.

"Oh, not at all," Brendan assured her as he moved behind his wife, hands automatically sliding along her waist in a very domestic gesture, and Tess smiled at him before turning back to her guests.

"Good thing I made extras!" she said pleasantly and reached forward to shake Harley's hand. "It's lovely to meet you, I'm so glad Tommy brought you."

Harley thought that Tess sounded genuine enough but Tommy made a quiet grumbling sound and went all rigid in that way he did when he felt threatened, sticking his feet to the ground like he was expecting a bloody hurricane to rear up and attack him face on. Frowning, Harley looked between her man and his sister-in-law and there was history there, blotted out in the space between them and holy hell, she just wanted to leave right _now_.

Except that she couldn't and since Tommy was acting like a mute brick wall in the middle of the kitchen, it was down to Harley to keep up the politesse in the room and reel off Cosmopolitan responses to all the typical questions thrown her way. Luckily she managed to navigate her way through them without giving anything personal away, and when Tess asked what had brought Harley over to Pittsburgh, Tommy's hand found its way to her back and the burning warmth of it radiated through her, giving her all the strength in the world. Giving the woman some vague reply, Harley felt the urge to turn around and kiss Tommy right there with all the passion she could muster, but supposed that wouldn't be polite at all.

When they were sat at the dinner table, Brendan explained why the girls weren't there even though neither Tommy or Harley had noticed their absence. _Just us adults for this part, _Tess had laughed with a big smile. The poor woman, Harley thought with sympathy, she was trying so hard. But then the meal went on and Harley found her sympathy fizzling out like a candle in a rainstorm, because it became apparent that now that the starters were out of the way, it was time to get down to the heart of the matter.

"Why didn't you tell us you were bringing someone, Tommy?" Tess asked as she daintily cut into her chicken. Harley blushed a little and peeked at the man from the corner of her eye, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow her whole.

"I forgot," Tommy snapped, gripping his cutlery too tight.

"Well, next time, can you let us know? Absolutely nothing against you, dear, but we were hoping this could be just a family thing." _Dear?_ What was she, fucking twelve years old?

"Y'didn't tell me that," Tommy grunted out, accent getting stronger in his rising anger, "and even if y'did, I still woulda brought Harley." This seemed to shock the couple and Harley bent her head, focusing hard on her meal.

"That sounds very serious," Brendan said slowly, scrutinising the two with a Conlon eye. "I thought you two had only been together for a few months?" Harley frowned but kept quiet.

"So what?" Tommy almost spat back.

"Nothing, man, just didn't realise you felt so seriously about her." _Er, I am sat right here._

"Fuckin' hell, Brendan, what the fuck has it got to do with you?" He was snarling now, and Tess threw her napkin down onto the table, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, here we go," she sighed. "Yet another Tommy temper tantrum." Unable to keep her head down anymore, Harley shot the woman a sharp look that bordered on a glare but Tess ignored her. "Do you have to ruin _everything?_"

"Tess," Brendan said lowly, putting his hand on his wife's thigh but she just shook her head.

"We're trying so hard, Tommy! And you just throw it back in our face every time. What are you trying to prove, bringing some strange girl into our house? What, is it going to be a bottle or two of whiskey next? Maybe some drugs that you can hand out to our children?"

Okay, this had to be make-believe, Harley thought in disbelief. Who on earth would say that to their guest?

"Fuck you, Tess!" Tommy spat, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter.

"Don't speak to my wife that way!" Brendan snapped, anger creasing lines into the face that had remarkable resemblance to Paddy's, so much so that the kindness of it was at odds with the situation.

"But you'll let her speak to your brother that way?" Harley interjected, unable to stop herself. Tommy's eyes flashed to her for a brief second but she was too busy glaring at their hosts.

"Who even are you? Some gold-digging fan that wouldn't leave him alone? How dare you come into our house and act like you belong here! You've been together for a few months and suddenly that gives you a right to act like you're a part of this family?" Tess's eyes were ablaze and Harley knew there was something else at work here, something slick and dark like oil in the stream of a long and dirty history between this trio, but her temper was close to breaking and she already felt shit enough without some stupid fucking housewife shooting her mouth off.

"Who am I? Who the fuck are you? So what if I haven't known Tommy that long when it seems that I'm the only one at this fucking 'family dinner' that actually gives a damn about his happiness!" Brendan looked like Harley had stood up and slapped him hard across the face, eyes going wide.

"Excuse me! I am his _brother_, so don't you dare tell me that you care more about him than I do! We welcome you into our home, some stranger who we've never met before, and you think that you can throw around accusations like that? With all due respect, Miss, but you have no right. You shouldn't even be here at all." Tommy went to spit out a reply but Harley was way ahead of him.

"Oh, you're his _brother_? Well that makes everything okay then, doesn't it! Don't give me that shit, if you were so damn close to Tommy then maybe you would have known about me before, surely? If you cared about him so fucking much, then maybe you wouldn't be making stupid fucking assumptions before we've even walked through the door. You don't know shit about Tommy or his life, or mine for that matter, so _with all due respect, _you can go fuck yourself."

If there had been any point in this situation that they could have stopped and turned around, made polite apologies and continued on with lunch, it was long gone now. There was a lot of anger contained in that dining room, lots of bitter memories and regrets and resentment that swamped the good intentions and left them to drown. Perhaps, if Tommy really had forgiven his brother, if Tess really did like Tommy, if Brendan really did regret his decision, if Harley really had moved on, they could have stopped themselves from grabbing at vicious words and throwing them across the table like knives, but unfortunately that wasn't the case.

"Get out of my house!" Tess hissed at Harley, her knuckles white from where she clutched at the table. "Get the fuck out of my house! I will not have some gold-digging little whore talk to me or my husband in our own house that way. You are not welcome here, whoever the hell you are. Look at you, you obviously think you're all that with some famous fighter on your arm, but you're not part of this family. You're just a phase and once Tommy realises that he's better off with us than with some random girl he picked off the street, you'll be gone quicker than you can say your own name."

The two seconds that followed Tess's angry speech felt stretched out and elongated in a cruel way. There was a part of Tommy that realised that there was something else going on here because no matter how much he and Tess didn't get on, he knew that she was a good woman. She would never say such horrible things to another person and Brendan wouldn't either - but something had happened to twist them that day, and maybe if Harley had been in better spirits she wouldn't have invited the torrent but she wanted someone to scream at, wanted someone to channel her anger at.

So, Tommy saw what she was going to do before the thought was even fully in her mind but he didn't move from his seat to try and stop her. Instead, he just sat and watched as Harley stood up, and in one fluid movement swept her arm across his brother's dining table and knocked everything that was in reach onto the floor with a shrill crash. China and glass disintegrated and blossomed out in a pale rush, the lunch Tess had spent hours preparing splattering up the ivory walls in an almost grotesque way.

"Fuck you," Harley spat. When she turned and fled the house, no one tried to stop her. Tommy heard the front door slam shut but for a long moment he just stared at his older brother who was still looking at where Harley had been standing. His eyes were wide and his jaw was slack.

"Great family dinner," he drawled and Brendan flinched. Half-inclined to throw his fist into his brother's face, Tommy slid back his chair and left the dining room to collect their jackets and Harley's bag, before he too left the house. Neither of their hosts said a word. After he had thrown their things into the car, he scanned the road to see where Harley had gone and saw her disappearing behind a line of trees. Jogging over, he caught up to her just as she broke through them into an empty park. Smirking a little, wanting to tell her just how impressed he was at her ballsy move back there in the house, he reached out to grab her arm but then she spun to face him and her expression was livid.

"I'm not a fucking phase, Tommy!" she spat at him and he was taken aback by her anger, having not expected it to be directed at him.

"I know you ain't," he replied slowly, unsure where she was going with this. Wasn't it obvious that she wasn't a phase? They practically lived together. He had bought them a mattress for fuck sake - _and_ kept the original blood-stained one in his old bedroom for that matter.

"What the fuck was all that bullshit back there? When you invited me to meet your brother, I didn't realise I was walking into the fucking Spanish Inquisition!" Her anger shone from her like a light inside a cracked statue, her eyes sparking gold from the heat of it.

"Neither did I," he shot back, feeling his own irritation flare back up. He hated the way Harley always worked herself up into her stupid tantrums, guns blazing anytime someone dared throw an accusation her way. "They ain't usually like that," he reasoned, feeling inclined to defend his brother even if he was an ass.

"I'm not a fucking gold digger or a whore! I don't give a fuck that you're some famous fighter, I only found that out after I met you."

"Why you tellin' me this? I already fuckin' know," said Tommy, watching Harley wave her hands and gesture as she spoke, long hair falling out of the neat bun it had been forced into.

"Because you didn't think to fucking tell them that? Huh? Is that what you let your family think of me?" she demanded, kicking up dirt as she turned away and then back again, as if half of her wanted to run away. She was restless, on edge, angry about something that had nothing to do with the meal at all.

"Where the fuck is this comin' from?" he asked her, eyes narrowed.

"What _am_ I to you, Tommy?" she cried then, finally coming to a halt in front of him - and there it was, he could see it in her wide eyes. Fear, nerves, guilt. They shifted uneasily like she was hiding something.

"You actually askin' me that?" he replied lowly, voice gruff. Harley blinked, realising he was angry now too.

"Well, why not? What are we even doing? You invite me to meet your brother but then that's the welcome we get? Thing is, they're right. They do know you better than me. So, are they right? Am I just some random girl?"

"What the fuck?" Tommy spat, feeling his defences slip back down into place like they had never been lifted. "Some random girl? After everythin' I've fuckin' done for you, you're askin' me whether you're just some random girl? What more do you fuckin' want, Harley? I fuckin' fish you outta the shower, practically wash you, feed you, dress you for two weeks an' you ask me whether you're just some random girl?" The guilt became a bright glaze in the green of her gaze and she fidgeted, wanting to hang onto her anger but also wanting to just sit down and cry. Her words were gone, crumbling into dust from the force of Tommy's visible insult and she hesitated, looking down at her feet. She heard him let out a bark of humourless laughter and glanced up to see him shake his head.

"If you wanna leave, Harley, just leave." She frowned, feeling very conflicted. "I know you wanna go back to London. Fine. Just go. No point fuckin' draggin' it out." Tommy turned from her and Harley felt her heart lurch in such a way that she flinched and stepped forward, wanting to grab his arm but then he kept on speaking and she was brought to a stop.

"Don't know why I even fuckin' bothered. I always knew you were never gonna stay here. You just needed someone to rely on when shit got bad and now that your Ma's gone, you wanna cut your ties and leave. You were never a random girl, Harley, but looks like I was just a random boy."

"What?" Tommy laughed again, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped. He looked really fucking pissed off and she was confused, felt like she seeing them from a distance. "This is about me, not you!" she found herself saying and she cringed at the poor choice of words.

"Yeah. Ain't everythin'?" His soft retort was like a slap in the face, freezing her in place as Tommy pulled the car keys out of his pocket as well as some cash which he threw at her feet. "There's a hotel at the end of the road." He started to walk away and she called out after him, worried.

"Where… where you going?"

"To wash you away." What could she say to that? Nothing. She had already said too much.

Staring after him, Harley waited until she heard the car drive off before she forced herself to move. Gripping the cash gripped too tightly in her hand, she left the park. He was right: a little hotel could be seen at the bottom of the long road and she made her way towards it, hands wrapped at her in an attempt to ward off the evening chill. When she approached the front desk, she saw the weird look the receptionist gave her but ignored it, just wanting to stand sit down. She paid for the night and then dragged herself up to the room, trying very hard not to think.

When she got there, she locked the door behind her and sat on the bed, not bothering to turn on the light. What had happened? How on earth had the night ended like this? Her throat felt tight and then suddenly wave after wave of guilt and anger and regret and just bottomless sadness broke upon her and she was sobbing into her hands. This wasn't how her life was meant to go, how her relationship with Tommy was meant to go.

No, she loved him. She loved him so much, and he loved her, though Lord knows why. How could she have treated him like that? The only person she had at her side, loyal and loving and strong, and she just pushed him away like the coward she was. Sure, she could excuse her actions with grief over her mother's death, homesickness from being away from home, but London had never really been her _home_. It was full of memories, some good but most not so good. Yes, her friends had been there but they didn't know anything. Most of them had moved on, none of them had tried to contact her for months - hell, she hadn't even told any of them that her mum had died. It hadn't even crossed her mind because Tommy knew, and that was enough.

He was enough. More than enough. He was all she ever needed, wanted, more than she deserved. She loved him.

"_To wash you away." _

Oh God. Had they broken up? Broken up. It sounded so juvenile - they were so much more than just boyfriend and girlfriend. He was her... her... he was hers. And she was his; had been from the moment she saw him sat at that desk in the gym. How could she have just walked away?

Harley really hated feeling sorry for herself but she just couldn't help it any longer. It was as if she had lost the ability to reason with herself, and now all she wanted to do was collapse into her misery and bask in it. She was an adult with an adult life but at that moment she felt like a little kid lost in the big bad world. It was pathetic - but she wanted her mummy. She wanted her mummy so bad, to just appear and give her a big hug like she used to, wipe the tears away and make everything better. But her mum was gone, and in her grief she had pushed away the only person who had refused to leave.

Curled up in a ball, Harley stayed that way for a long time. It very quickly became pitch black in the hotel room and when she sat up, wiping at the tears that had dried on her cheeks, she realised it was probably gone midnight - and Tommy still wasn't back yet. Though, that was probably because he didn't know where she was. Would he ask for her name at the front desk or would he get a different room? Would he even come back at all?

Well, if he wouldn't come to her, she would go to him. Setting her shoulders, pushing away the exhaustion that accompanied crying too much and too often, Harley stormed out of the hotel room and ran down to the front desk, but the receptionist was nowhere in sight. She was right, it was after midnight and the ground floor was pretty much empty. Scanning the area, she saw that there was a bar at the back of the hotel so she made a beeline towards it, grabbing the attention of the bartender with a flash of her eyes.

"Evening, honey, what can I get you?" he asked with a genuine smile, cleaning out a glass with a cloth in the way they did in the movies.

"Er, gin and lemonade, please." He nodded and poured her the drink in a quick minute and slid it over to her before walking over to another customer. Harley threw the drink back in two gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Noticing, the bartender poured her another one without a word.

"Hey, I'm looking for someone," she said to him just as he went to walk away again. "Tall, big and muscled. Tattoos everywhere you look. Looks like he's gonna punch you out but is actually a kitten." The bartender smiled affectionately at her description but she didn't notice. "Goes by Tommy. If you see him, can you let me know? I need to see him. I need to."

"Sure thing, honey. I'll let you know." Giving her thanks, she turned on her seat to stare out across the quiet bar. It was almost empty but there were a littering of people tucked away in booths or sitting along at the bar. They all seemed very sad. It hurt Harley's heart to think that Tommy might be one of those people elsewhere and all because of her.

After another two drinks, Harley picked up her glass and walked out into the garden of the hotel. There was no one around, the only sound coming from the chirp of crickets and the quiet murmurings of the people inside. She meandered to where she could see moonlight glinting off water and smiled when she found a pool lurking behind a low wall. She loved to swim but hadn't done so in years. London wasn't really a swimming pool kind of place.

The midnight air was cool against her face, gently running its fingers through her hair that was now wild and scruffy down her neck, still half in its bun, and she laughed at the image she must present to people. How had she fallen so low?

Her feet walked the edge of the pool as she watched the way the stars danced in the gentle reflection of the water, touched so very softly by the wind. It was very lulling, very soothing. She felt the alcohol in her system sink low in her veins, felt it take away her fear and her anger, leaving behind only the quiet despair at where her own choices had led her. Still, beneath it all was the stunning determination to get Tommy back: she would not let him walk out of her life, at least not without hearing what she had to say first. If he wanted to leave her behind then she would respect that decision because hell knows he deserved more than she could ever offer him, but he needed to know just how she meant to him.

There was a star within him, thousands of them. He was the night sky with all the galaxies and planets and moons and suns in the universe, tied with a thin thread to his eyes. The roughness of his hands spoke of all the things he had clung on to, his tattoos told her of all the memories he never wanted to forget. His nightmares spoke less of weakness and more of strength, of compassion and never-ending love for the people he cared for. He never put himself first, would always put himself in front of a bullet just for the chance that another person could live. He held onto lives like a child would catch butterflies and when they flew away, he blamed only himself. He thought the reason that he had survived what others had not was because he was being punished, that he was being made to suffer this living hell as payment for the deaths he believed he caused but he was so, so wrong. The spirits of his loved ones hung like fairy lights in the cathedral of his soul and they sung a hymn that everyone could hear but him. Tommy had survived so he could live all the days he had lost in the deaths of others. His unit, his mother, they haunted him like a song stuck on repeat and he was so very afraid to change the track.

Harley wanted to tell him, above all else, that it was okay. That he was filled with nothing but goodness and that the reason she knew heaven was possible for him was because he was it. Strength and beauty and fierce passion, that's what heaven was: Tommy was heaven. He was all the goodness in the world and it was the world that he deserved.

Harley turned on her heel and looked back at the bar. She didn't know where he was, but she would find him. She would go back to his stupid brother's house, she would walk the street up and down, she would search the entire country for him; she was _not_ going to walk away again.

Smiling, Harley took a step and then she was falling. Hot pain sparked in her temple and she was under water and it was rushing down her throat and she couldn't breathe and then - nothing.

* * *

_This chapter's quote is by Rachel McKibbens from "Letter From My Brain To My Heart"._

_So, I got part 2 up quicker than expected, but that might mean I've missed some editing mistakes, so feel free to point them out. I will probably go back to this chapter a few days from now and re-edit it, but this will do for the moment. Part 3 will be up either tonight or tomorrow, I should think._

_See, I told you it was going to be all up and down! _

_Now, about the whole Tess and Brendan thing. I like T+B, and I will not be turning them into antagonists. Their attitudes in this chapter will be explained in future chapters, because I intend to make them more involved with the upcoming plot. Tess is not a bitch though she acts like one in this chapter, just like Harley isn't a drunk though she acts like one in this chapter. So have no fear! It will all be explained._


	15. deadbolts: part III

**This Is My Skin**

_(and it's thick. this is not your skin - yet you are still under it.)_

* * *

you have my permission not to love me;

i am a cathedral of deadbolts

and i'd rather burn myself down

than change the locks

– **13 –**

**deadbolts**

**part III**

* * *

Despite forcing rather a lot of sickly tasting beer down his throat, Tommy still felt painfully sober. He was sat in some seedy bar, surrounded by loud men and louder women, and he didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Leaving Harley in the middle of some street outside his brother's house? That's not what Marines did.

He didn't know what was going on. That fight with Harley? It was so unlike them. _To wash her away. _What the fuck was he talking about? He couldn't just wash Harley away with a couple sips of overpriced beer; he couldn't wash her away with a river of rapids. He had only just accepted the fact that he had fallen in love with her, he couldn't walk away from her now.

Shaking his head, Tommy stood up and threw some notes at the bartender who barely glanced at him as he snatched them up. At least he knew where Harley was, had given her money to get herself a room at that nice hotel. God. What was going on with them? He knew Harley could get defensive over the littlest thing, hated feeling guilty for something so had a habit of pushing it over to another person instead: she was feeling bad about wanting to go back to London, so had leapt at the opportunity to try and make it seem like _he_ was the one pushing _her_ away.

It was no wonder she was thinking about going back to London. She was on the cusp of a whole new life and she was scared - he had felt the same after his Ma had died. That's why he had run to the Marines because the life he'd had before was no longer valid so he had needed something else to make it all worth it. It was natural that she would start doubting her decisions, going back and forth between all her options because she _knew _London. She knew nothing here except him.

Leaving the warm air of the bar, Tommy realised that it was very late, probably past midnight. How had so much time gone by without him noticing? He just hoped Harley had taken his advice and gone to the hotel, though whether she would be sleeping or not was debatable. Getting into his car, he drove as fast as he dared over to the hotel and ran inside, hands coming down onto the front desk to draw the attention of the half-asleep receptionist.

"Did a woman called Harley Sinclair book a room for the night? Woulda paid with cash? Long dark hair, green eyes, pale skin, wearin' a red dress?" The receptionist blinked up at him, at first bemused but now suspicious as she looked him up and down. Yeah, he probably didn't look like a trustworthy guy: big and inked, smelling of beer, asking about some woman alone in a hotel room? Yeah, not a great image. "She's my girlfriend," he added to try and reassure her but it didn't seem to work.

"I can't just give information to you about our guests," she said sharply. He went to argue but then stopped, knowing it wouldn't help his case.

"Fine. Just… if you see her, can ya tell her Tommy is lookin' for her?" The woman nodded but didn't write anything down and he knew that she wouldn't say a word to Harley if she did see her. For fuck sake. At least he was now pretty sure she was in the hotel since the woman hadn't outright denied her being there, which was better than her wandering around outside at midnight. Sighing, Tommy turned away from the desk only to catch the gaze of a young man looking him up and down.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly, not in the mood for any bullshit but the man just smiled and stepped towards him.

"Sorry, but I overheard you say your name was Tommy?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Well, a young lady with dark hair and green eyes was in my bar not five minutes ago, asking me to look out for a Tommy and you look just like the man she described." Tommy's attitude disappeared immediately as he looked towards the bar the man had gestured to. "She went outside into the garden, I think she's still out there. Good luck, man." Nodding his thanks, Tommy rushed through the bar and out into the back of the hotel where the stars were bright and the moon was full. There was no one around and it was peaceful out there, the sound of crickets the only noise breaking the silence.

"Harley?" he called, keen eyes scanning the small space, but there was no reply. He suddenly felt very cold standing out there and he had to repress a shiver, clenching his fists tight for a moment before walking on. There were picnic benches and tables scattered on one side of the garden but they were completely abandoned, so he went round the other side where he could hear a gentle slap of water against stone. He knew Harley liked water but when he peered over the small wall, there was no one stood around the pool and he cursed the stupid bartender for leading him the wrong way.

_Christ. _He could feel the alcohol starting to work its way through his system now, making his fingers tremble and his sight blur. Feeling a little woozy, Tommy sat down on the wall with his head in his hands and tried to order his thoughts. Maybe she had gone back up to her room? Maybe the bartender was wrong and it wasn't Harley at all. Maybe she was long gone – well, maybe not. He had all her stuff, she wouldn't get far with forty dollars. Fuck. He did sound like a psycho, hunting down his girlfriend.

Sighing, Tommy looked up and stared out across the pool – and then frowned. Something was on the water, but he couldn't make it out. It felt like there was a curtain hanging behind his eyes and he was trying to squint through it. Shakily getting to his feet, Tommy walked towards the edge of the pool, stumbling on the way. The water was dark in places and he thought that was just a shadow but then he thought that it kinda looked a bit like blood… and it looked like it was coming from that shape. No, not a shape, a person. A woman.

_That's a lotta blood_, he thought, _and why the hell is she floatin' face down in the damn water? _Fuck, it was hard to think, but then everything fell into place and it was as if his insides had been replaced with ice and he yelled out -

"Harley!"

Tommy threw himself feet first into the water and grabbed at her, pulling her into his arms. She was like deadweight and soaked through with water, the blood coming from a wound on her temple. Cursing, Tommy waded back to the edge of the pool and lifted her onto the side, his shaking fingers pressing at the pulse point on her neck – _yes, there! _

_Shewasaliveshewasaliveshewasalivealivealivealiveal ive._

"Come on, Harley!" he ground out as he pulled himself out of the pool and knelt by her side, putting his ear to her chest. Knowing she had no doubt swallowed water, Tommy began to apply CPR, the adrenaline pushing aside the alcohol to give him better focus though his hands still trembled. On the third go, Harley suddenly convulsed and sat up, a torrent of water spilling from her mouth, and Tommy guided her over so she didn't choke. Once she had gotten most of it up, she went to flop back down but he caught her so that her head fell against his chest. He patted down his pockets before remembering he had left his phone in the car, so he carefully picked Harley up and ran into the bar, shouting out for someone to call an ambulance. He didn't even see if anyone was there but suddenly the bartender was beside him, saying that the emergency services were on their way.

Most other people say the next bit goes by very quickly, but to Tommy the wait was agonisingly slow: the flash of the ambulance, people shouting out commands and murmuring firm reassurances, lowering Harley into a stretcher and asking Tommy a thousand questions that he didn't know the answers to… he just wanted to get to the part where they tell him that she's okay, where she wakes up and they can go back to being normal again. Where he could hold her and kiss her and promise that he would never leave her, not again.

But that part didn't come around so quick. The doctor told him that she had hit her head pretty hard on the edge of the pool before falling in, and that they would need to wait a while before they could tell whether there would be any lasting damage. For the moment, she was unconscious and would only wake up in her own time. They made Tommy wait two hours before he was allowed to see her, laid out on the bed with bandages wrapped around her head, tubes down her throat, machines monitoring her vital signs and beeping with every beat of her heart.

Tommy was terrified. Fear was thick in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe and all he could do at first was choke in shallow breaths as he gripped her hand.

"Harley… Harley, you gotta wake up, okay? You can't just go like this… you can't just leave me, not after everythin'." _How had this happened? How had it come to this? _"I – I need you, Harley. I sound like such a fuckin' pussy but I do. You take all the bullshit away. I don't give a shit that you're stubborn as hell, that you get defensive and upset and crazy. I don't care about any of that shit. If you wanna move to London then fine, we can figure somethin' out 'cause I ain't just gonna let you walk away. You ain't just a phase or some random chick, come on, you know that." Jesus, he hated doing these fucking speeches like some love-drunk, chick-flick, rom-com girl but he had to say it. Even if she couldn't hear him, he had to say it.

"'Cause I love you, Harley. I really fuckin' do. So you can't just go and fuckin' slip into a pool and think that's the end 'cause it ain't. We've still gotta move in together, get a dog, go on really fuckin' expensive dates, buy you dresses that you'll never wear, and see the whole fuckin' world because that's what you deserve, baby, and I'll give it to you. You just gotta wake up." His eyes blurred and he pressed his head against her head. "Please. Wake up."

But she didn't wake up when he asked her to because life wasn't a chick flick or a romantic comedy. So, there Tommy stayed, clutching at the hand of the woman he loved, praying to God that He would leave just one person behind. _Don't take them all, _he begged. _Not her._

It was more than four hours later when Tommy felt a hand on his head, disturbing his light dozing. He startled awake and looked up to see Harley gazing at him, visibly confused. Taking her hand, Tommy sat up and used the call button to alert the nurse, beyond relieved that she was awake.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, sitting as close to her as he could. Harley went to speak then coughed, so Tommy grabbed the glass of water at her side and helped her take a small sip. Just as he sat it back down, the doctor appeared at the foot of the bed.

"Hello, Harley. My name is Doctor Stacey, and I'm looking after you today. You're in the hospital because you had a nasty fall back at the hotel. You've been unconscious for about seven hours, so we're all very glad to see that you're awake. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"Sore," Harley croaked out, gripping Tommy's hand with all the strength she could muster in her state. The doctor nodded and wrote something down on the patient clipboard.

"That's to be expected. I want to keep you in the hospital for a little bit, just to check how you're doing now that you're awake. It looks like your brain swelling has started to go down which is really good sign. Now, I'm going to ask you some questions, just to make sure everything's okay, alright?" Harley nodded and Tommy remained seated at her side, holding her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. A few times during the questions which were simple things like asking her name, her age, and what she could remember from before the fall, Harley glanced nervously at Tommy but she kept her hand in his.

"Well, everything looks good. You're very lucky, Harley, that could have been a lot worse than it was." Tommy sent the woman a flat look. _Lucky. _Yeah, she had her head cracked open and nearly drowned in a hotel pool. How lucky. "Still, I want to keep you here for a couple more hours, just so we can monitor you. You'll have a headache for a bit but if it suddenly gets worse or something feels strange, let me know immediately, okay?" Harley nodded and the doctor exited the room, leaving the two of them alone, and for a long moment there was only silence.

"Harley -"

"Tommy, I'm sorry," Harley interjected, wanting to get it out before him. "I'm sorry for everything I said before… and you're right. I was thinking about going back to London and I felt guilty… so I took it out on you. I'm sorry." Tommy shook his head and leant forward to kiss her, taking her by surprise.

"You're allowed to think about whatever you want," he told her firmly. "If you wanna move back to London then-"

"I really, _really_ don't," she interrupted. "I thought about it long and hard tonight… last night, and I don't know what I was thinking. There's no way in hell I'm moving back to London, not ever." Now it was Tommy's turn to be surprised.

"You wanna stay?"

"I want to be wherever you are, Tommy. If… if you still want me." She smiled shyly and Tommy laughed, swooping down for another kiss, careful not to jolt her too much.

"Course I still want you, babe," he said cheekily with a wink, making her laugh and it was such a beautiful sound that it made his heart jump a little. _What a pussy, _he thought to himself, grinning.

"You know, I had this big long speech I was going to say to you when I found you," Harley told him, eyes brighter than they had been in a long time.

"Well, I gave you a big speech while you were sleepin' but you missed it. I ain't sayin' it again."

"Oh!" she pouted. "I want to hear your big speech. You're such a man of few words that I can barely imagine you giving a big speech." He raised an eyebrow and she grinned and it was so normal and playful and happy that he could barely believe it was happening inside a hospital.

"Well, talkin' about big speeches, that was a pretty nice one you gave my brother an' sister-in-law," he said with a sidelong glance at her and she blushed deep red.

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about that. I can't believe them though! They were so horrible about you," she said with a frown, and she crossed her arms across her chest – which was tricky to do with an IV – and gave him a look that reminded him of a disgruntled puppy. "I'm not going to apologise to them until they apologise to you," she said with a huff and Tommy shook his head in amused disbelief.

"I love you, babe," he said, kissing her knuckles and her blush deepened with a smile.

"I love you too," she told him quietly, enjoying the way his eyes lit up with those words, so she said it again and again and again until Tommy had to shut her up with a long, passionate kiss that took her breath away.

"How strong do you think this bed is?" she whispered to him and he laughed out loud, running his thumb across her bottom lip.

"Don't tempt me," he warned her before pulling away as the doctor came in with a chart and a knowing smile.

"Alright you two, settle down. Now, Harley, I've had a look at your scans…" In the end, it turned out that she _was_ pretty lucky because the doctors seemed quite content to let her go by the time the following evening came around, meaning she only had to stay overnight once while Tommy slept in the chair beside her, despite her protests. Then the doctors got her to sign a load of paperwork and then finally they were back in the car, early morning peering over the tree tops of the little suburban town.

"It seems really boring here," Harley said as she gazed out the window and Tommy snorted.

"Harley, you told my brother to go fuck himself, knocked the meal to the floor, shouted at me in the middle of a park then got yourself sent to hospital 'cause you fell face-first into a pool. Ain't nothin' boring about that." Harley giggled and flicked her hair out of her face, careful not to bump the stitches on her temple.

"Yeah, well. I meant the area, not what we got up to. I've never really liked these kind of towns, I prefer cities. Always something to do in a city." Tommy grunted out his agreement as he turned onto the freeway, the radio humming some pop tune between them.

"We can go to a city," he said after a moment and Harley glanced at him, smiling a little though she tried to hide it. It wasn't a big statement he was making, not really, but it was a confirmation of the future: that if she wanted to go to a city, he would follow her there. He would follow her anywhere, he didn't care. They could start all over again, make new lives for themselves without the hassle of familiar faces around them. It was a refreshing, exciting thought.

"We can go anywhere," Harley replied, turning back to look out the window. It was a bright day, the trees beginning to turn gold. It took a lot of alcohol and a bump to the head for them both to see sense, and maybe it was the bloodloss but she felt lighter somehow. The guilt, the fear, the sadness: it didn't weigh so heavy anymore. It was still there – maybe it always would be – but she could breathe again.

With a smile, Harley reached over and let her hand rest on Tommy's thigh, and she didn't need to look to know that he was smiling too.

* * *

It was a few weeks later when Harley walked up the path to Tommy's house, thinking back to the first time she had done so. How things had changed, some for the worse, some for the better. Smiling a little, she knocked on the door and waited. She couldn't hear anyone moving inside and she thought that maybe she was too early and that Tommy hadn't arrived yet, but then she heard footsteps and the door was pulled open to reveal his dad.

"Oh, hi," she said nervously. She had never really gotten to know Paddy, had only heard the things Tommy had told her about his childhood. It had been difficult for her to form an opinion about the man because even though the stories Tommy told her were ones of abuse and neglect, the person she had met and talked to briefly seemed so nice and tired, and even Tommy himself was conflicted with his views on his father.

"Hello, Harley," Paddy greeted, beckoning her in. "Tommy's not here yet but he told me to expect you. He won't be long." Thanking him, Harley hung her jacket over the banister and walked through into the kitchen, taking in the familiar smell of the house. It smelt warm, like Tommy, and old, like Paddy. The Conlon scent.

"Dya want some coffee?" he asked and handed her a hot mug of it. "So, Tommy says he's taking you outta town for the day," he said with a smile and she nodded.

"Yeah, we're going to look at some potential places to live. He's determined to show me everywhere before I make a decision," she laughed, and Paddy joined in, chuckling in that endearing old man way. There was a moment of silence as they both took a sip of their coffees and then Paddy cleared his throat, looking a little bit anxious for a second.

"So, er… Tommy tells me that your mother passed away recently." Harley's shoulders sunk a little and she nodded, green eyes paling with sadness for a moment.

"My condolences," he murmured, shifting from foot to foot and Harley knew he was thinking about Tommy's mum. "I hope Tommy's takin' good care of you."

"He is, he really is," she replied, perking up a little. She was always happy to gush about how brilliant Tommy was. "I couldn't ask for a better person in my life than your son." Paddy smiled and it had that twinge of parental pride that she bet Tommy was blind to.

"Y'know, Harley, I… er. I need to confess that I weren't very… supportive of your's two relationship at the beginnin'," he said with a familiar gruffness and she couldn't help but smile. She knew all about the conversation he and Tommy had a few weeks ago, but it didn't bother her too much. He was right for the most part: at that point in time neither of them had been very healthy with one another, her more so than him. Things were different now, better, so maybe he had helped them in a way.

"But seein' you now… I ain't never seen Tommy so happy before, and I know that's down to you. So I gotta thank you, Harley, for makin' my boy smile again. I've done a lotta wrong by him, but I know you're only gonna do right." Blushing, Harley smiled and thanked him with as much grace as she had, because that was a very honest thing for someone to say.

"He's going to do more right by me than I am by him," she said with a smile. "He's full of goodness, your boy. I don't know where I'd be without Tommy at my side. He's saved my life many times over since I met him, and I know I wouldn't have been able to cope with mum's death without his continuous support."

"Yeah, I saw the mattress in his room," Paddy said, hesitating a little though he was reassured by the way Harley smiled at him even if her eyes had darkened with a touch of grief.

"You know, I'd forgotten all about that. I can't believe he's kept it in his bedroom all this time. I really need to get rid of that thing."

"Why don't you burn it?" Paddy suggested offhandedly. At Harley's confused look, he continued, "Well I burn our old shit out in the back yard all the time. Could be some good closure for ya, honey." _Honey. _Looks like she had been accepted into the family after all. _Suck it, Tess, _she thought meanly, smirking to herself.

"Burn it? I hadn't thought of that," she said slowly, contemplating the idea. She supposed there wasn't much else she could do with it, considering it was covered in blood.

"Yeah, okay. Let's burn it."

"Yeah?" Paddy checked. "Well, Tommy ain't here yet, wanna do it now?" He seemed almost excited and Harley had to laugh, wondering how she managed to get herself into these strange situations.

"Sure, what better time than the present, as they say." Paddy put down his coffee and gestured for Harley to follow him, leading her to Tommy's bedroom where the mattress was still propped up against the wall. Together they navigated it through the hallway and out into the yard where there was a paved section with metal borders made for burning old pieces of scrap. They threw the mattress onto the middle of it, blood-side down, and Paddy picked up some lighter fluid and matches. Telling her to stand back, he drizzled some of the fluid over the mattress, making sure that it didn't splash anywhere and then he handed Harley a lit match.

"Let it all go," he said, and she thought that maybe this is what they taught them at the AA: closure, forgiveness, acceptance. She remembered accusing Paddy of being just like her father and thought now how wrong she was. No, her father had never made any attempt to change his ways, had never said sorry or sought help. They were two completely different men, and she was so very glad Tommy had that second chance with his father.

"Let it all go," she repeated to herself, and let the match drop. It hit the mattress in a slow arc and caught fire instantly, flame exploding in a wave of heat that made Harley step back. It crackled and black smoke began to rise from it as the fire steadily consumed the material, eating it all the way down to the springs.

"It's quite therapeutic," Harley said to Paddy, moving to stand closer to him and offering him a smile.

"Yeah, it is," Paddy agreed quietly, watching the smoke twist and clot in the sky.

Outside, Tommy pulled up in his car, checking his phone habitually in case Harley had tried to ring him, probably annoyed that he was late. He hadn't meant to be, but Colt had an annoying tendency to not shut the fuck up. He'd been made to stand there and nod along politely as the manager went on and on about some new fighter that Tommy couldn't care two shits about. He'd be outta there soon, in some other city or town or wherever the hell Harley wanted to go.

It was the smell that hit him first before anything as he locked the car. The smell of burning – it ripped right through him to the core, throwing up memories and fear and the vision of hot sand, and he whipped around to stare up at his house.

Was that smoke? That was smoke.

Tommy broke into a run. Not bothering with the front door, he threw himself over the side gate and went straight into the garden which was where the smoke looked to be coming from. He took the corner at a sprint and then slid to a stunned halt just as his father and Harley turned to look at him.

"You alright, love?" Harley asked him, looking worried and he frowned, confused.

"What you doin;?" he asked and she glanced a little sheepishly back at Paddy who looked like he expected Tommy to attack him right there and then.

"Well, your dad suggested that we burn the mattress, you know, the one in your room. I couldn't see why not." She stepped closer to him, eyes sharp like glass. "Sorry, I should've known that you would see the smoke and panic. I know you hate that smell. I didn't mean to make you worry." He sighed and shook his head, just glad that there was no major crisis for him to deal with. He'd had enough of them to last a lifetime.

"S'long as you're alright," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. He nodded at Paddy who returned the gesture, hands stuffed hastily into his pockets. Sensing his discomfort, Harley moved out of Tommy's reach and gave the man a hug, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thanks for this, it really helped." Paddy blushed like a school boy which made Tommy grin, and shrugged self-consciously as Harley moved back into Tommy's arms.

"It's alright," he murmured, voice rough. "Well, er, I'll see you two kids later." Giving them a little wave, he headed back into the house. Just as he closed the door behind him, he heard the pair of them laugh quietly but he knew that it was meant to be kind rather than at his expense, and he felt good about that.

In the yard, Harley squirmed in Tommy's arms, turning so that her chin rested on his chest as she stared up at him. There was mischief in her gaze and it made something hot flutter in Tommy's gut because he had feared that she had lost that natural cheekiness forever, but there it was, all the more brighter for its absence.

"I love you, Harley Sinclair." He was always his most articulate when he said her name and she knew that it was safe in his mouth. Having Tommy at her side and wrapped all around her was the equivalent of having an entire military escort, keeping her safe and protected from harm, and she wondered what on earth she had done to deserve him.

"I love you, Tommy Conlon," she said back, hugging him as tight as she could (which felt a bit like hugging a brick wall), making him laugh. His lips found her temple, brushing the scar left behind from her stitches and she shivered from the heat of them.

"Come on," he said, unwrapping his arms to take her hand. "I wanna show you off to the world, so we better get goin'." Harley laughed, the sound loud and happy, as he pulled her through the house. It was a bit like a child pulling her along on Christmas morning and the thought made her feel all warm and giggly and ridiculous inside.

Huh. The world. For so long, it had felt like a big scary place that was cruel and thieving, stealing all that they loved away from them, but now it was full of possibility, hope and adventure… and it was all at their fingertips. They could move wherever they wanted, do whatever they wanted, just as long as they were together. They were all the dawns and the dusks of the world, and even after the darkest night they had learned how to rise again. Yeah, it sounded a bit like bullshit but wasn't that the stuff of life?

Alone, Tommy and Harley were difficult, haunted and broken, but together they were more than the sum of their nightmares, more than who they had set out to be. Alone, they were just carers, but together they were fighters, survivors -

Warriors.

* * *

_This chapter's quote is by Rachel McKibbens from "Letter From My Brain To My Heart"._

_I really rushed editing this because I can only do it at work and I need to leave before 7. Again, I will reread this through later but feel free to alert me to any mistakes!_

_I feel the need to apologise for my inconsistent use of American slang or words. Since this is set in the US I do realise I need to stop being so British but I have no idea what I'm doing, really! So again, let me know if anything is really blatantly wrong or something. _

_Until next time! _


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